


Heaven for the Climate (Hell for the Company)

by elizaye



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood Drinking, Bottom Castiel, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2013, Flashbacks, M/M, Origin Story, POV Multiple, Possessive Behavior, Season/Series 04, Top Dean, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 98,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaye/pseuds/elizaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 4 AU. It is foretold that the angels will storm Hell to raise the Righteous Man so that he can fight the Devil and save the world. Castiel is doing just that, only he's not a member of the God squad (though his wings would suggest otherwise). The angels don't like him meddling with their plans, and the demons aren't exactly fans of the creature that stole a soul from the pit. Faced with the forces of Heaven and Hell, Castiel throws his lot in with Sam and Dean, but it isn't easy to earn the Winchesters' trust.</p><p>A fic with two storylines: Castiel's origin story in flashbacks, and the apocalyptic S4 parallel in the present. Written for DCBB 2013</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Creation

**Author's Note:**

> Y'know, I don't think I've ever written one of these acknowledgement-thank-y blurbs before. Well, first time for everything.
> 
> For starters, I'd like to thank [daksgirl](http://daksgirl.livejournal.com/) for making such [lovely artwork](http://daksgirl.livejournal.com/13404.html), and for putting up with a pre-betaed version of this fic as her source material. She was seriously a pleasure to work with, and I was so very lucky to be paired up with her.
> 
> I owe special thanks to my beta, [Wish](http://inthebackoftheimpala.tumblr.com/), for beasting through this in like two days, even though I still had over a month before my posting date, because she wanted to give me enough time to make changes, bless her heart.
> 
> I'd also like to thank [Elli](http://draconicanimagus.tumblr.com/) and [Lemon](http://lemonrow.tumblr.com/) for their feedback and support, [Kate](http://abbadonallhope.tumblr.com/) for commiserating with me about writing problems whenever I hit writer's block, and [Shiny](http://getmeshiny.tumblr.com/) for waving her metaphorical pom poms to cheer me up. Without them, I don't know if I would've finished this, ever.
> 
> Finally, a huge thank you to the mods at [DCBB](http://deancasbigbang.livejournal.com/) for making this all possible. It's unbelievable how many amazing fics come out of the big bang every year, and I'm really grateful for the time and effort they put into organizing it.
> 
> And now that that's over, I'd just like to add a quick thanks to you, dear reader, for stopping by. Happy reading!

It’s dark when he wakes, lying on some hard, flat surface, and he starts to lift an arm, but it runs into something less than a foot from his body. He runs both hands along the barrier and finds that it’s all around him. He seems to be trapped inside a narrow… box? When he reaches into his pocket, his fingers encounter a familiar lighter, and he clicks it on. Dread rises in his gut as he realizes what this is. _Coffin_. He’s buried underground. How the fuck…?

Memories appear before his eyes in flashes.

Blades slicing through the air, through flesh. Blood splattered across walls, across a never-ending tangle of chains and barbs. Smoking guns. Red everywhere. Black smoke of a thousand demons. And then—

_Sammy._ Shit.

He remembers gashes in his chest, claws ripping through flesh as easy as knives through butter. He remembers the two huge, vacant pits in the hound’s face where the eyes should have been. Remembers Sam screaming his name.

And then he was in Hell.

So where is he now? How did this happen?

No, those questions can wait. He needs to get out before he runs out of air. Why the fuck is he buried underground anyway? Sam was supposed to give him a hunter’s funeral.

“Damn it, Sammy,” he tries to say, but it comes out a croak—his throat is painfully dry and scratchy, and apparently trying to talk was a horrible idea, because it sends him into a coughing fit.

Water. He needs water.

He doesn’t even know how he makes it out of the grave, only that it feels as though an eternity has passed between the moment he kicks out the wood of the coffin and the moment he breaks the surface, gasping for air.

And then he’s stumbling down a dirt road, hoping against hope that someone will come driving by preferably not a serial killer, because it would suck to get out of Hell only to get shot by some whacked out psycho—will come driving by and give him a lift to... well, to anywhere that isn’t here. Anywhere that’ll get him closer to Sam, or Bobby.

He doesn’t let himself linger on the idea that they might not still be alive. Dean has no idea where he is, or how long he’s been gone, but... it’s just not possible.

But no cars pass by, and eventually Dean sees a building in the distance. He quickens his pace, spurred on by the sight. He _really_ needs some water. And then he’s gotta find a way to call Sam and figure this thing out.

He should have been locked down in Hell forever. What’s happened?

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Castiel flees. His wings give him an edge over Alastair and Lilith when it comes to traveling between the planes of existence, and he takes full advantage of it now. He’d had a slight lead on them coming out of Hell, but he’d all but lost it when he’d stopped to put Dean’s body back together—something that went surprisingly well, all things considered.

They’re too close for comfort, and Castiel beats his wings harder, hunched over as though his precious cargo is still in his hands. He makes sure to draw his pursuers away from the soul that is now caged in vulnerable flesh and bone before flying halfway across the world in an attempt to shake them off. But Alastair and Lilith are dogged, and Castiel starts to worry that he may have to turn back and face them head-on.

Then he senses a surge in angelic presence on Earth—the angels must have discovered Dean’s absence and withdrawn from Hell.

Castiel feels a shiver of dread. The others will be looking for Dean, just as Lilith and Alastair will soon be. Castiel’s mind whirs as he flies, wings aching with the strain of maintaining a high speed for so long. He needs a way to ensure that Dean will be safe.

It occurs to Castiel that he can use his pursuers to his advantage. He abruptly turns back toward the United States, flinching when Alastair’s blade glances off his side as he passes. Fortunately, Alastair and Lilith are not as efficient in changing direction as Castiel is, giving him a tiny bit more of a lead. But he’s in pain now, moving below optimum speed.

Moments later, he hones in on Dean’s grave—the man has apparently dug his way out already. Castiel then traces the presence of Grace to an abandoned gas station. There, he can sense Dean inside the building. One of his brothers is attempting to communicate with the hunter. Castiel highly doubts that any progress is being made on that front, but there is a small chance that Dean will be able to understand angels.

Castiel pauses for a moment, just a split second, brushing close enough to the gas station that it’s impossible for the other angel not to notice his interference. And then he’s flying away again, rapidly, halting a safe distance away and clutching his side as he waits. The angel emerges from the gas station just in time to encounter Lilith and Alastair, both of whom are distracted from the chase by this new threat.

A nasty fight ensues, expanding into another dimension. Castiel sees other angels approaching, coming to help, and he quickly and surreptitiously returns to the gas station. They’re all so distracted by the action that none of them see the brightly shining soul getting back to its feet just within the nearby building.

The human, of course, cannot see the fight. It’s beyond his realm of perception. Castiel takes a risk, steps over to the human as he exits the building, and extends a large wing around him, shielding them both from sight. Not that any of the angels or demons are paying attention—actual fights don’t often break out between the forces of Heaven and Hell, but when they do, they are all-consuming.

He hovers near a payphone, waiting for Dean to make some phone calls before following him to a car. Castiel continues to cloak Dean, as well as the car, until they’re safely on the highway.

Only then does he take off, reluctant to approach Dean. To appear before the hunter now would call suspicion to himself. Better to let Dean come to him.

His vessel is suffering, and Castiel presses a hand to his side, thinks about healing the wound. But he’s used this vessel for over two centuries, and perhaps it is time to let him go. Castiel sends his thoughts out, casts about for potential vessels in the area, and comes up with one in the city.

Yes, it’s time for a change.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_All of Heaven weeps—tears of fury, of mourning—when the Light departs._

_The lower level angels feel panic, fear, confusion. They don’t know the events that have been unfolding since the first humans walked the Earth. They aren’t intimately familiar with Lucifer, aren’t aware of the way he grew colder and colder toward the end, losing the warmth of his love, the beauty in his Light._

_Michael stands in Heaven, listens to the cries of his brethren, and prays._

Father, if you can hear me, if you still love us at all, you will return to us. Help us. Help Lucifer. He needs your attention more than anyone else. Please, Father.

_But his requests go unheeded for the months following Lucifer’s descent, and Michael knows that he cannot delay any longer. His brothers have asked for information regarding Lucifer’s departure, have wanted to know why the Light has gone, and he’s put it off for long enough._

_He tells the truth, tells them of Lucifer’s poisonous envy, and because he’s resentful, because he loves his brother so strongly that it transmutes to hate upon this callous abandonment, he tells them all of how sinful Lucifer has been. Tells them that Lucifer can never return to Heaven, not now that he’s fled and left them all behind._

_“And these are… the words of our Father?” Leliel asks, tearful._

_Michael nods, lies to his brothers because they cannot know that God is not in Heaven. Only three others, Lucifer excluded, are privy to this knowledge. Raphael understands the necessity, but Gabriel throws Michael a look of contempt at the lie. Joshua just looks sad._

_“But Lucifer was the favored son,” Leliel says, soft, and Anael steps forward to lay a hand upon his shoulder, to provide some comfort._

_“He was discontent with all that was already rewarded him, and in wanting more, in lusting for more, he sinned,” Michael says. “We have lost him forever.”_

_The others break away, return to their mourning. Soon, only Gabriel, Anael, Azrael, and Raguel remain._

_Gabriel frowns at Michael’s trusted three and waves at them dismissively. “Leave us.”_

_They look to Michael first, and at his nod, they depart._

_“Brother, I understand why you think you have to lie, but don’t you think—”_

_“The truth would cause disorder. Chaos. A frantic search for Father that will return no results.”_

_“No results, really?” Gabriel challenges. “If every single eye in Heaven turned outward, if every one of us ventured out in search for Father, I am certain that we would find him.”_

_Michael shakes his head. “He is the Creator, the most powerful being in existence. Do you honestly think that we would be able to find him if he did not wish to be found?”_

_Gabriel sighs. “As for Lucifer, is that really what you’ve decided? That he should never set foot in Heaven again? I thought you loved him. I thought you loved this family.”_

_“I do love this family. That’s why I must protect it.”_

_“Protect it? From what? From Lucifer?” When Michael doesn’t respond, Gabriel shakes his head, pained. “You think he… you really think that he would…?”_

_“I know it,” Michael admits softly. “He and I… we did not part on civil terms. Lucifer has left us forever, of his own volition, and nothing will change that.”_

_“Not even if he repents?”_

_Michael smiles even though it hurts to do so. “Lucifer would never go back on his beliefs. You and I both know that. He loves absolutely, but he hates absolutely as well. And his hate for the humans… it grew so much that it dwarfed his love for us. I am sorry, Gabriel, but this is the truth.”_

_Gabriel shakes his head, backs away. “I will leave you now.”_

_With that, he takes flight, leaving Michael alone in this empty realm. The first angel stares wistfully down at the Earth and wishes he could have his little brother back._

_But that’s impossible now._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

He’s a young man, even by human standards, devout and kind. He doesn’t go to church every week, but he prays every night before bed. He doesn’t say grace, but Castiel always thought that that was excessive anyway. The man is an accountant, working at some large investment company, but in his downtime he takes care of animals at a shelter. He’s a regular volunteer at a soup kitchen.

It’s always harder to kill innocent people, _good_ people. Castiel likes to think that he’s better than _them_ , better than the others. So he’s been keeping track of several potential vessels in the area, because he’s better than them, won’t just mass-murder all devout human beings within a hundred-mile radius the way _they_ would, were they in his position.

When the angel fails at establishing contact with Dean for a second time and starts circling this particular young man, it’s a shame. Castiel already knows he’ll regret killing this one.

But he understands the choice, he really does. The kid is twenty-two years old, fresh out of college, and still very idealistic, firm in his beliefs. He has brown hair, kept at a length slightly longer than is average for a male human being, and his dark brown eyes are earnest, seem to demand trust.

Castiel is grateful that he never learned the man’s name, only the idea of him. But even that much knowledge hurts, is difficult to reconcile with the fact that Castiel will be taking his life. Angels don’t resurrect humans to be vessels because it’s wrong to steal souls from Heaven, no matter what the intent is. And that makes all of this vital—Castiel needs time, needs to stall, and this, this is the best way.

This murder is necessary, so Castiel will do it. He’s always been capable of doing what is necessary.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Sam looks up as Ruby comes back into the room, head still buzzing a little the way it does after each time he exorcises a demon.

“Getting pretty slick there, Sam,” Ruby says, smiling. “Better all the time.”

Sam gets to his feet. She’s done so much, _been_ so much, for him, and her approval really does mean a lot. When he looks down and sees the dead body of the waitress, frustration comes crashing back down onto his shoulders—when will he be able to succeed? How many more people will he be unable to save?

But this is something he’s been struggling with for some time, and he can handle it. What’s more important is the situation at hand. It can’t be normal for Dean to just wake up topside all of a sudden, with no clues and no apparent memory of Hell—Sam isn’t exactly sure Dean wasn’t bullshitting him when he said that, but... well, one problem at a time. Ruby’s brought him a lot of useful information in the past months—if anyone knows what’s going on, it’ll be her.

“What the hell is going on around here, Ruby?” he asks.

“I wish I knew,” Ruby replies, shrugging.

“We were thinking some high-level demon pulled Dean out,” Sam says.

“No way,” Ruby answers. “Sam, human souls don’t just walk out of Hell and back into their bodies easy. The sky bleeds, the ground quakes. It’s _cosmic_. No demon can swing that. Not Lilith, not anybody.”

“Then what can?” Sam asks, sure that he’s not gonna like the answer.

“Nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

Sam nods, because there’s nothing else he can do. That is definitely not what he wanted to hear. He’s really fucking grateful that Dean’s out of Hell, and with the life he’s lived, he’s learned not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this time around, he doesn’t think he can avoid it. The only major player he can think of is Lilith, but Ruby’s already said that she couldn’t have been behind it. So who else is there? What could lift a person from the pit, and why would it want Dean out, specifically?

Sam collapses into a seat at the nearest booth. This thing burns people’s eyes out—it burns _demons’_ eyes out. _It’s the end. We’re dead—we’re all dead_ , the demon had said before he sent it back to Hell. Dean was definitely right about one thing—that demon was scared.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

It’s still quiet, and Dean doesn’t understand. It’s a summoning spell. Usually don’t those work faster than this? He grabs the knife beside his leg and idly presses the tip into the surface of the table he’s sitting on, because boredom’s a bitch. Sure, he’d complained when Bobby had him climbing that ladder to spray-paint the walls of the barn with every friggin’ sigil he could think of, but at least he’d been doing something.

“Are you sure you did the ritual right?” Dean asks, and Bobby shoots an exasperated look at him. “Sorry,” Dean says, backing off. “Touchy, touchy, huh?”

Just as he finishes speaking, the roof begins to rattle violently. Dean slides off the table, grabbing a shotgun as he does so. Bobby does the same.

“Wishful thinking, but maybe it’s just the wind,” Dean says, looking up at the roof.

But right after he says this, the lights overhead explode, one by one, and Dean ducks instinctively to protect his head. And then the barn doors are swinging open, and some creature—most likely Castiel, whatever that is—in the guise of a man enters, walking through the shower of sparks.

Dean fires before he even gets a decent look at the guy, but his and Bobby’s shotguns do nothing to hurt the thing. Dean glances at the older hunter, but Bobby looks just as confused as he is.

Then the man is getting close, and Dean backs up against the table he’d been sitting on before, grasping Ruby’s knife behind his back. As Dean tightens his grip on the handle, the man stops moving, and Dean gets his first really good look at the guy.

_Christ_ , his eyes are blue. His hair sticks up in all directions, like someone’s been tugging at it, running their fingers through it. He’s wearing a black leather jacket, and underneath is some dark blue fabric, but Dean doesn’t dare let his eyes slip any farther down, focusing back on the creature’s face.

“Who are you?” he demands.

“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition,” Castiel responds, and his voice is much more gravelly than Dean would have expected, coming out of that face.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Thanks for that.”

The guy’s lips quirk slightly, like he means to smile but doesn’t know how, and Dean decides at that moment to lunge forward, stabbing the blade into his chest. But the creature doesn’t fall, doesn’t even make a sound, and Dean backs up a step, startled and more than slightly afraid, though he would never admit to that.

Meanwhile, the creature just looks down at the knife protruding from his chest. When he looks back up at Dean, his lips are stretched wide in a grin, and Dean swallows hard. What the _fuck_ —

The guy calmly pulls the knife out, letting it drop to the ground with a clang. Behind him, Bobby swings a crowbar at his head, but the guy’s arm flies out, stopping the blow seemingly effortlessly. He reaches up and presses two fingers to Bobby’s forehead, and the old hunter collapses.

Dean freezes, mind clogged up with disbelief—is Bobby even still _alive?_

“We need to talk, Dean—” those intense, blue eyes are fixed on him again “—alone.”

Dean just blinks at him for a moment before walking around him to crouch beside Bobby. If the creature is powerful enough that nothing they have can hurt him, there’s no point in being scared. He reaches down, places two fingers to Bobby’s carotid artery, and is relieved to feel it pulsing healthily.

“Your friend is alive.”

Dean looks up at the guy, who’s moved over to one of the tables and is flipping through a book. “Who are you?”

“Castiel.”

Sure. Pamela already told him that. “Yeah, I figured that much. I mean, _what_ are you?”

Castiel looks up from the book on the table and says, “I’m an angel of the Lord.”

Dean stares at him for a long moment, taking him in. Still the same mussed hair, too-bright eyes, leather jacket and dark shirt. He wears a pair of comfortable jeans, slung low on his hips. He can’t be a demon, because the demon knife didn’t take him out, but he sure as hell isn’t an _angel_.

“Get the hell outta here,” Dean says. “There’s no such thing.”

“Oh, believe me, there is.”

“Mhmm, right, and I’m supposed to just believe that angels walk around looking like the rest of us on a daily basis? How come I’ve never run into one o’ you before?”

Dean pauses, but instead of a response, there’s a flash of lightning from behind him, casting huge shadows of wings extending from Castiel’s back.

Okay. So that’s new.

“Some angel you are,” he says. “You burned out that poor woman’s eyes.”

Castiel blinks. “It was her—” he starts, then stops. When he speaks again, his voice is measured, as low as ever. “I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be… overwhelming to humans. So can my real voice. But you already knew that.”

Dean makes the connection, remembers the deafening siren, the _pain_. “You mean the gas station and the motel. That was you _talking?_ ” The not-angel nods. “Buddy, next time, lower the volume.”

“That was my bad,” Castiel says, and something doesn’t add up in the way that he says this—how can someone who says _my bad_ also say something like _gripped you tight and raised you from perdition_? “Certain people,” Castiel continues, “special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong.”

“And what _visage_ are you in now, huh? What, holy runway model?”

Castiel’s lip twitches again in that weird smiling-but-not-smiling thing that he did last time, but now Dean knows that the guy—the _thing_ —can smile, and this just doesn’t make sense.

“This?” Castiel says. “This is… a vessel.”

“You’re _possessing_ some poor bastard?” Dean blurts out, this overriding the less significant thoughts in his head for the moment. How are angels—if this _is_ an angel—better than demons if they have to possess people too?

“He’s a believer. He prayed for this,” Castiel says, eyes flicking to the right, away from Dean, for just a second.

Dean follows the direction of his gaze but sees nothing interesting, and it doesn’t look like the dude’s looking at anything in particular, anyway. But Dean knows his visual cues from years of interrogating suspects, victims, bystanders, you name it, and it seems like the guy’s bullshitting, making this up on the spot. That, or he’s remembering a lie that he thought up a short while back.

“Look, pal, I’m not buyin’ what you’re sellin’, so who are you really?” Dean asks.

Castiel frowns, tilts his head in a way that seems meant to convey confusion, but his eyes are clear, like he knows exactly what Dean’s thinking. “I told you,” he says.

“Right,” Dean says, playing along for now. “And why would an angel rescue me from Hell?”

“Good things do happen, Dean.” Weirdly, this statement is the only one that’s seemed to ring true in Dean’s ears ever since the not-angel showed up here. Could be a fluke.

“Not in my experience.”

“What’s your problem?” And there it is again, that weird slip of vernacular into the guy’s speech. But Castiel continues, eyes wide and locked on Dean’s with freaky intensity, “You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”

“Why’d you do it?” Dean demands, because this is eating at him. With all the things that he’s done…

But he gets distracted from his thoughts by the flicker of something across Castiel’s face. It’s gone too quickly to identify, but Dean’s positive that he saw it. Something that Castiel’s trying to hide.

“Because God commanded it,” Castiel says, almost robotically. “Because we have work for you.”

“Nice try, buddy, but I can tell that you’re lying,” Dean says.

Gradually, the grin from before returns, and while Dean feels a bit triumphant, he can’t deny that this look on the guy’s face _scares_ him.

“It’s good to know you’re not an idiot.”

Dean wants to ask what exactly Castiel is trying to hide from him, but there’s a crash of thunder in the distance, and Castiel’s head jerks in that direction. He’s suddenly still, so still that he could be a statue, and god, the dude can’t _really_ be an angel, can he?

“Well, that’s my cue. Dean, try to stay out of trouble.” Dean starts to answer, but then Castiel steps closer to him, and before Dean can do anything, Castiel presses a hand to his chest. There’s a sudden flare of pain that fades almost instantly.

Dean grunts. “What did you do to me?” he demands, hand wrapping around Castiel’s wrist to keep him there, make him explain. He jolts, surprised—it’s like he can _feel_ power radiating from Castiel’s arm.

“For protection. Just in case,” Castiel says with a secretive smile.

Dean starts to speak, but Castiel is gone. And Dean swears that in the last moments before Castiel disappeared, he heard the sound of wings.

An _angel_. Dean shakes his head. There’s just no way.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Ruby sighs and lets her forehead fall against the steering wheel with a thud. She doesn’t like lying to Sam—she’s _never_ liked lying to Sam. But it needed to be done. It’s for his own good.

_I don’t even know if I trust you_ , he’d said.

Sam’s right not to trust her, Ruby thinks bitterly. She can’t tell him anything. Hell, if she were Sam, she wouldn’t trust her either. But telling him what she knows would only spur more questions, sticky questions that she wouldn’t be able to answer.

At least it wasn’t a complete lie. She’d said that it was something she’d never seen before, and she really hasn’t seen an angel before—doesn’t plan to see one anytime soon. Even topside, with limited access to sources, she’s heard of the siege that the angels laid on Hell, so it’s only logical that an angel pulled Dean out. Ruby hasn’t received any new orders, though, so it appears everything is to proceed as planned.

Dean’s return really throws a wrench in her plans. Sam’s been cooperating so well, but Ruby knows that Dean disapproves of his brother’s powers—his disapproval had been what made Sam so reluctant to work with Ruby toward the beginning. Sure, Sam thinks he wants to keep going right now, but it’s only a matter of time before Dean finds out what they are doing and goes berserk trying to get them to stop.

Ruby wants more than anything to take Sam away from Dean before that can happen, to convince Sam that the two of them would be better off without Dean, or that Dean would be better off without them—whichever argument works.

But that approach isn’t feasible. Sam would die for Dean—hell, he was doing his goddamned best to trade places with Dean only a few months back—and to try to separate them now, so soon after Dean’s return... it wouldn’t go over well. Really, Ruby’s only been in Sam’s life for maybe a year and a half, on and off, while Dean’s been with Sam for practically his entire life. And although that is an obstacle that Ruby can and will overcome, she has to allow Sam and Dean time for the honeymoon period following their reunion before she can get down to chipping away at their relationship.

Yes, she needs to be patient. She needs to keep Sam coming back and just hope that when Dean does find out and the brothers have their inevitable fallout, Sam will be far enough along that he’ll choose to come with Ruby rather than knuckle under to Dean’s demands.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_For the first two months, Lucifer wanders the Earth, walks among the glorified apes, unseen, and watches as they struggle through the days, watches their primitive lifestyles. And he wonders why, how. How are these inferior, imperfect creatures, these_ animals _better, more loved by Father, than all of the angels? Than all of his perfect children?_

_But though he may have threatened to destroy humanity in his last fight with Michael—his entire being pulses with hurt at the memory of his beloved brother’s fury, disapproval, disappointment—he knows that if these are his Father’s favorites, outright killing might not be the best thing to do._

_So he moves among the earliest humans, observing. The more he learns, the more disdain he holds for them. They have a constant need for everything, hunger for everything—sustenance, stimulation, rest, companionship, sex. How can these confused, tangled masses of need and want be more worthy of God’s love than the legions of perfect, devoted angels?_

_One day, a woman dies before him, succumbing to disease. Angels all know that the souls of humans come to Heaven upon death of the flesh, just as those of monsters go to Purgatory, but angels seldom walk the Earth, and they are not familiar with the journey that these souls take to Heaven._

_Fascinated, Lucifer watches as the woman’s soul lifts out of her body, watches as a reaper approaches and speaks to her. She nods, and he takes off, ferrying her toward Heaven. Lucifer tracks his progress through the dimensions until he’s at the gates. This is where the reaper stops, deposits the soul without a second glance, and returns to Earth._

_It occurs to Lucifer that he may not be allowed to kill the humans, but he can certainly steal their souls and torment them in this secret way. It’d be almost too easy for him to intercept a reaper. So he continues to track that reaper, and the next time it stops to reap a soul, Lucifer makes sure to stay close and hidden. He snakes out a tendril of Grace, brushes it against the reaper’s clutches, and it releases the human soul in its hold._

_There’s an instant of confusion in the reaper, but Lucifer strokes its cold hands again with his Grace, gives it the illusion of cargo, and sends it away._

_His prize quivers under his touch, and he smiles. “Are you frightened, my dear?” he asks._

_This soul is dim, so dim, as are all human souls in comparison to angelic Grace, and he just doesn’t_ understand _. Why do the others think that these souls are so beautiful? How can they even begin to compare to Grace? It is difficult to believe that all other angels hold such disproportionately low opinions of their own essences. It’s_ disturbing _, really._

_The soul doesn’t respond to his query, and perhaps it doesn’t know how. Lucifer harbors more than a little disdain for human languages, after all, so his question was asked in Enochian._

_He gives a gentle tug at the soul, and it screams in agony, pleads in its primitive tongue for him to stop. But he can’t—this is perfect. This is the soul’s just punishment. Why should it usurp his Father’s attention? It’s dirty, trapped so near the ground, unable to fly._

_He twists and tugs at the human soul, experimental, but he eventually gets too worked up, pulls too hard, and the soul snaps, disintegrates with a thought. But right before it snaps, Lucifer thinks he sees a tiny flare of defiance, a final stab at survival, and he is… intrigued._

_From then on, Lucifer begins to steal souls, just one at a time, and tries hard to stretch them to their limits. Each and every soul emits that same final flare of brilliance, but he can’t seem to keep them in that state, can’t seem to draw it from them. As an archangel, it seems that he’s too strong; it’s too easy to rip them apart, to grind the souls into nonexistence._

_There must be a solution to this. Lucifer just hasn’t gotten there yet._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

When Castiel enters Dean’s mind, the human isn’t dreaming, so Castiel prods at his subconscious, and Bobby Singer’s house materializes around him. Castiel leans back against the kitchen counter, rests his hands on either side of his hips, and waits for Dean to come to him.

Dean seems surprised when he sees Castiel, which makes sense. The human gets to his feet and enters the kitchen area, eyes laser-focused on Castiel.

Castiel waits until he’s close enough and says, “Excellent job with the witnesses.”

“You were hip to all this?” Dean asks, and he looks surprised and angry.

“I was uh, made aware.”

“Well, thanks a lot for the angelic assistance. You know, I almost got my heart ripped outta my chest!” Dean growls.

“But you didn’t,” Castiel says matter-of-factly—if Dean had truly been in mortal danger, Castiel would have stepped in. Hell, after all the energy Castiel spent to bring Dean back, it’d be nothing to fight off the reaper that came for Dean, even if Dean’s soul had already left his body.

But he can’t say any of this, and his terse response only seems to anger Dean further. Castiel is annoyed by the script, but he chose to play things this way—it’s safer, anyway—so he’s gonna have to stick with it, at least for now. Maybe later, when the dust has settled, he will come clean.

“I thought angels were supposed to be guardians,” Dean is saying. “Fluffy wings, halos, y’know. Michael Landon. Not dicks.”

Castiel can’t hold back a smirk. “Read the Bible. Angels are warriors of God.”—yeah, of a God who’s _not fucking there_ —“I’m a soldier.”

“Yeah? Then why didn’t you fight?”

“I’m not here to perch on your shoulder. We had larger concerns.”

“Concerns? There were people getting torn to shreds down here!” Dean hisses, infuriated. “And by the way, while all this is going on, where the hell is your boss, huh, if there is a God?”

“There is a God,” Castiel says. Yes, an absent God who’s too cowardly to show his face.

“I’m not convinced,” Dean says. “‘Cause if there’s a God, what the hell is he waiting for, huh? Genocide? Monsters roaming the Earth? The freaking apocalypse? At what point does he lift a damn finger, and help the poor bastards that are stuck down here?”

Castiel echoes all of these sentiments and more, but the only thing he can say is, “The Lord works—”

“If you say ‘in mysterious ways,’ so help me, I will kick your ass,” Dean interrupts.

Castiel makes as though he’s surrendering the point, but internally, he crows with glee. This human channels emotion so strongly, _reeks_ of delicious anger. Yes, this was completely worth the trouble it took to haul him out of Hell.

“So, Bobby was right,” Dean says. “About the witnesses. This is some kind of a… sign of the apocalypse.”

And they’re back to the script. “That’s why we’re here. Big things afoot.”

“Do I wanna know what kind of things?” Dean asks.

“I sincerely doubt it, but you need to know. The rising of the witnesses is one of the sixty-six seals,” Castiel begins to recite.

“Okay, I’m guessing that’s not a show at Seaworld.”

Castiel holds back a grin. He’d been half-worried that the man wouldn’t live up to his expectations once they actually met, but he hadn’t been disappointed by their first meeting, and really, he _likes_ this guy. “Those seals are being broken by Lilith,” Castiel says impassively.

Dean catches on immediately, proving again that he’s a sharp one, despite what other demons have told Castiel about Dean being the “dumb” Winchester. “She did the spell,” he says. “She rose the witnesses.”

“Mhmm,” Castiel says. “And not just here. Twenty other hunters are dead.”

“Of course. She picked victims that the hunters couldn’t save so that they would barrel right after us.”

“Lilith has a certain sense of humor.” And oh, does Castiel know it.

“Well, we put those spirits back to rest,” Dean says.

“It doesn’t matter. The seal was broken.”

“Why break the seal anyway?”

Castiel frowns—he’s wading into murky waters now. His memory is remarkable, but he definitely should have paid more attention when his father talked about these sorts of things—destiny, the grand story, the Righteous Man. At the time, he’d never thought it’d come in handy.

But he’s always been stellar at improvisation, and he knows the gist of the idea… and it’s not as though Dean’s going to know the difference between the script and what Castiel actually says. “Think of the seals as… locks on a door.”

“Okay,” Dean responds readily. “Last one opens and…?”

_This_ Castiel remembers verbatim. “Lucifer walks free.”

Dean stares at him in disbelief. “Lucifer? But I thought Lucifer was just a story they told at demon Sunday school. There’s no such thing.”

“Three days ago, you thought there was no such thing as me,” Castiel says. “Why do you think we’re here, walking among you now for the first time in two thousand years?”

“To stop Lucifer,” Dean murmurs.

“That’s why we’ve arrived,” Castiel confirms. And he realizes that he honestly has no clue what else he’s supposed to say. Is this the point when he leaves?

But then Dean says, “Well… bang-up job so far. Stellar work with the witnesses.” He leans back against the counter, right by the refrigerator. “It’s nice.”

And while Castiel appreciates Dean’s sense of humor and his spirit, the sarcasm in his voice here irritates him—the angels are doing the best they can. What gives Dean the right to pass judgment on them? “We tried,” Castiel says. “And there are other battles, other seals. Some we’ll win, some we’ll lose. This one, we lost.”

Dean scoffs, and his insolence really grates on Castiel’s nerves.

“Our numbers are not unlimited,” he says, letting his Grace flare a little so that his eyes take on more of a menacing glint. “Six of my brothers died in the field this week—”

Castiel had watched from a distance as their Graces were snuffed out. There’s a traitor in Heaven, and he knows who it is, but no one would believe him if he told them. He can only bide his time.

Meanwhile, Castiel leans in closer to Dean and continues, “You think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around? There’s a bigger picture, here. You should show me some respect.” He lowers his voice for the final threat, something that probably doesn’t jive with being an angel but that he can’t resist adding, “I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in.”

He stares at Dean for a moment longer, to make sure his words sink in, before spreading his wings and departing from Dean’s mind.

And now he really isn’t sure what comes next. He lands just outside Singer Salvage Yard, outside the fabric of human existence, and tests the cloak that he placed around the property, ensures that it hides the Winchesters and the Impala from both angelic and demonic sight.

Satisfied, he takes off. He needs more information if he is to continue in this vein. The next step in the grand plan has to do with testing how battle-ready the Righteous Man is, but Castiel can’t remember the specifics.

A brother would do perfectly as a source of information, but he needs the right incentive. Dean, of course, will have to serve that purpose, but how can Castiel make him harder to find for his brothers? Dean won’t stay in the salvage yard forever, and Castiel can’t just kill every viable vessel on Earth. And when they can’t find Dean directly—the etchings on his ribs have proven effective so far—they’ll realize that they can find him through Sam.

So what would make a human extraordinarily difficult to find?

Ah, yes. Time.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_It’s been a few short decades since his departure from Heaven when a potential solution occurs to Lucifer._

_Human souls are dim, flawed, and most importantly, weak. They can’t withstand the torture it takes to bring them to that final point of brilliance, of power, and by the time they’ve reached that point, it’s already too late, and they’re well on their way to disintegration._

_So why not choose a more powerful starting point?_

_Lucifer extends his senses up towards Heaven, spreads his wings, and flies near the gates._

_Here, so close to his old home, he feels sorrow again. But as much as he yearns for his home, he will never be welcome there again. That much Michael made absolutely clear._

_In his mind, he recalls the ranks of angels. So many brothers to choose from… but he must select the right one. Lucifer needs him to be strong, but not so strong that he’ll be partial to Michael—the eldest is known for favoring those with high might._

_Anael, Azrael, and Raguel are definitely off-limits—those three are Michael’s most trusted and loyal warriors. Gabriel and Raphael are nearly as strong as Lucifer himself, and there is no way that they would sit by meekly and allow Lucifer to experiment with them, so they are out as well. But there are many more to choose from._

_Hester is too headstrong. Rachel too loyal. Zachariah is powerful… but Lucifer just doesn’t_ like _him, so he moves on. Gadreel is strong, but he may be too loyal, like Rachel. Leliel is powerful, and he’s taken Lucifer’s side in past squabbles. Perhaps he will be a good choice. Arariel is a worthy candidate as well. Ariel? No, Ariel is too meek. Cassiel would be a smart choice—he’s solitary, might not even be missed for a length of time. But he’s not powerful, and he lacks conviction. Too passive. Nuriel?_

_Lucifer deliberates for a length of time, weighing and measuring the benefits and downfalls of each choice, narrowing down the angels of Heaven until he’s left with Leliel and Puriel._

_Leliel is the angel of night, perhaps slightly stronger than what Lucifer would prefer. Puriel, on the other hand, is fiery, completely detached in a way that most other angels are not, and he has what Lucifer feels is the perfect strength for what he hopes to accomplish._

_Puriel examines souls when they are brought to Heaven—if Lucifer strains his Grace enough, he can sense Puriel’s presence just beyond the gates. It would be so easy to call to him, lure him through the gates and ensnare him. But his presence would instantly be missed. Dokiel would certainly alert the others, and Lucifer cannot capture Puriel quickly enough that Dokiel will not notice. Puriel is also less likely to submit to Lucifer’s will._

_And so Lucifer chooses to call to Leliel, soft, so that it’s unlikely he’ll be overheard by the rest of the Host. There’s an instant of nothing, an instant in which Lucifer worries that he’s made the wrong choice—Leliel could be going to Michael even now with knowledge that Lucifer is attempting to reach the inhabitants of Heaven._

_But then it’s there, a thready connection between them, tethering Leliel’s Grace to Lucifer’s, and Lucifer gives a light tug, summoning him._

_Then he flies down to Earth to wait._

_Not a minute later, Leliel lands before him. “Brother,” he says, eyes full of wonder._

_Lucifer smiles. “I thought you wouldn’t come.”_

_“We aren’t supposed to be outside Heaven,” Leliel says, hushed, but Lucifer knows that there are cracks in the boundaries of Heaven, that the gates are far from the only entrance to Heaven._

_“I know.”_

_“Why did you call for me?”_

_“I have a task for you. It’s very important.”_

_Leliel draws himself up to his full height. “What can I do for you?” he asks, and yes, this was a perfect choice indeed._

_“Withstand torture.”_

_“Torture,” Leliel repeats, surprised._

_“Yes,” Lucifer replies—he could never lie to his brothers. “I will make you scream. I will make you wish you were dead. I will push you until you can be pushed no farther.”_

_Leliel is silent for a moment, and Lucifer wonders if he’ll have to force him. That would be much less pleasant, but he is willing to do what must be done._

_Then Leliel asks, “Why?”_

_“To test a theory,” Lucifer responds._

_Leliel takes another moment to consider it. Just as Lucifer is bracing himself for Leliel to take flight, preparing himself to intercept and capture him, Leliel drops to the ground, submissive._

_“I am yours to use as you wish,” the seraph whispers._

_And Lucifer slowly smiles._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

It’s never gonna be over.

Dean tells this to himself over and over again, no matter what that demon Alastair says. Because he’s _not_ gonna do it. He’s not gonna turn into a demon, into a monster.

Oh, but it hurts. _Christ_ , it hurts.

He wishes he could die here, permanently. Just die and stay dead. It’d be bliss, compared to this never-ending cycle of pain.

He watches others get off the racks, angry and twisted and demonic, and he wonders what he looks like, wonders if he’s turned just as dark as they have. There are no mirrors here, so he cannot see himself. He doesn’t _want_ to see himself, doesn’t want to see proof that he’s steadily turning into what he never wanted to be.

Alastair tells him it’s only a matter of time. Dean looks around, takes in all the blood and guts, hears the screams, inhales the wretched smell of this shithole that he’s been in for over two decades, and wonders if he’s right. Hell, Dean doesn’t know how much longer he can last, how much more he can take.

There’s a draft of cold wind against his skin, and Dean blinks awake, his last thought being that there’s no cool wind in Hell.

“Hello, Dean,” a deep voice says, and Dean jerks back, lifts himself onto one elbow to see Castiel perched on the other side of his bed. “What were you dreaming about?”

Dean sighs. “What, do you get your freak on by watching other people sleep? What do you want?” he snaps, irritable. Though really, he’s relieved that the angel woke him up—he has no doubt that that’s what happened, because it sounds like the angel knew exactly what Dean was dreaming about—but he’s not willing to admit that yet.

“There is something that you need to know.”

“Okay, then tell me.”

“You need to see it.”

Does he have to be so fucking pedantic? “Okay, _show_ me,” Dean says shortly.

Castiel’s lips quirk upward, and then his hand’s coming toward Dean’s head. Dean starts backing away, but he feels two fingertips press against his forehead, and the world drops away.

“Move it, buddy—you can’t sleep here,” someone says, waking Dean up. Wait—when did he fall asleep?

Groggily, he mutters, “Okay… sleep where?”

“Anywhere but here.”

Here. Where the hell is _here?_

Dean sits up, looks around. He’s on a bench. He was just sleeping on a bench, and he doesn’t recognize this place at all. How did he even—right. Castiel. Dean pulls out his cell phone, but there’s no signal. Figures that the angel would send him to some place that doesn’t have cell signal.

“Perfect,” Dean grumbles.

He spots a diner across the street. Jay Bird’s Diner—bit of a weird name. Well, the locals will be able to tell him where he is, so that’s a start.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Castiel stands perfectly still, waiting. He sent up the signal, one that would be recognized as a call for help, a short while ago, just after returning from 1973. Sure enough, he senses an impending arrival and braces himself for combat. He isn’t sure how he will be received by his estranged brothers, and he doesn’t know if they’ve found out that it was he who destroyed that vessel in Pontiac.

He turns around when the new arrival lands behind him. This must be the angel whose role he’s usurped.

“You’re young,” Castiel observes, and it’s true—this angel is one of the younger generation, younger than Castiel, that’s for sure. He’s unfortunately managed to find a vessel after all, but Castiel supposes it was only a matter of time. The man is blond, about the height of Castiel’s vessel, and used to work at a law firm. Castiel looks past the vessel and into the Grace, searches for the name of the angel inside.

“It’s… it’s _you_ ,” the angel says, apparently recognizing him first. This isn’t surprising—Castiel’s wings and Grace are pretty distinctive.

Castiel smirks. “Me. What do they say about me these days, Inias?”

“I…” Inias pauses and shakes his head—not the gossiping type, Castiel sees. “I cannot find the Righteous Man. What have you done with him?”

“What makes you think it was me?”

“Hell is in an uproar. They would not have let him escape, not even with the forces of Heaven storming them as a distraction. I know of no other who could have removed him.”

“Well, brother,” Castiel says, and Inias flinches, the sensitive thing, “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Tell me where you’ve put Dean Winchester.”

Castiel pretends to consider this for a moment, hoping to get a rise out of the angel, but Inias is too patient, and Castiel finally says, “I can give you a hint. But I want something from you, first.”

Inias looks guarded. “I cannot give everything freely—this you must know.”

“I am not asking for anything I shouldn’t already know,” Castiel responds. “It’s been a while since I last brushed up on the story. I would appreciate a tiny bit of a review.”

“Indeed, this is something you should already know,” Inias says, frowning. “Why would you need—”

“Humor me, brother. It is a small price to pay in exchange for a clue to the Righteous Man’s whereabouts, is it not?”

Inias hesitates, then nods. He launches into the narrative, into the story, and Castiel listens, and remembers. There’s a flash of red Grace, followed by a flash of gold, and Castiel wonders who they were, whom he’s just recalled. It’s been so long…

After some time, Inias finishes his speech and turns to Castiel expectantly. “Now, I would like to know where the Righteous Man is.”

“It’s not a question of _where_ , but _when_ ,” Castiel answers, giving away a hint that really only makes his brother’s job more difficult, and he feels smug when Inias’s eyes widen.

“How…” he murmurs, and Castiel knows that he’s thinking— _how am I ever going to find him?_

“Good luck, little brother,” Castiel says, and takes off before Inias can respond.

He loops around rapidly, stops in several random spots around the Earth to ensure that any sort of tail put on him has been shaken off. Only then does he return for Dean. There’s work to be done, and now that Inias is going to be busy, he has some more time.

First order of business—he must fetch Dean before Inias finds him. But when that’s over with, he has an old friend to visit.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_Lucifer senses when the first brothers leave Heaven to scour the Earth._

_Leliel’s disappearance couldn’t go unnoticed forever, but Lucifer is still dismayed by how quickly they caught on. It’s only been about a week, and Leliel has not broken yet, but he’s close._

_Leliel screams, cries, begs for mercy, and Lucifer twists and tugs at his Grace, tears chunks of it away. He rips at Leliel’s wings, in and out of the human plane of existence, and Leliel shrieks, shrill. Lucifer mutes all of this, makes sure to keep hidden from the seraphs’ search. He’s an archangel, so this is no difficulty._

_But a day later, he gets fed up. Lucifer hasn’t completely ripped Leliel’s wings off just yet, has only torn them and allowed them to heal partially before breaking or tearing them again. He sets to work on ripping them apart again, but this time, he doesn’t stop until the wings are completely gone, obliterated. The screams are shrill, hard to listen to, but Lucifer forces himself to hear the near incoherent cries. His brother’s pain deserves his full and undivided attention._

_And then, suddenly, Leliel’s Grace flares up, white-hot and powerful and… and perfect, because it is maintaining this brightness. Then, just as rapidly, the bright power collapses inward, hardens to obsidian, black as night, and Lucifer steps back, waits for his brother to wake._

_Leliel regains consciousness quickly, and the first thing he says is, “Father?”_

_Lucifer frowns down at him—God is nowhere nearby, but Leliel is looking at him, eyes full of awe._

_“Father,” Leliel repeats._

_“Leliel—” Lucifer begins._

_“My name is Lilith.”_

_And it occurs to Lucifer that he has twisted his brother into something new, that he has_ created _, much as Father once did. “Lilith, my dear child,” Lucifer says, and Lilith beams._

_Oh, if only the occupants of Heaven could see this._

_And then it occurs to him that they can, if he lets them. Lucifer uncloaks his presence and instantly feels several seraphs zoning in on his location._

_“The angels are coming to take you away from me,” Lucifer informs his new child._

_“You won’t let them, will you?” Lilith asks, worried._

_“That depends on how much you want to stay with me. I will leave now—if you wish to stay with me, prove it,” Lucifer says. He grants Lilith a smile before departing._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Dean wakes with a start, the image of his mother leaning in to seal the deal still too fresh in his mind. This was pointless—it was all pointless. He didn’t— _couldn’t_ change anything. He sits up, turning sideways as he does so to get his feet on the ground. He needs to be standing, needs to not feel so fucking _useless_.

“I couldn’t stop any of it,” he says. “She still made the deal—she still died in the nursery, didn’t she?” And when he asks, he glances at Castiel, wishing that the angel would contradict him.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. You couldn’t have stopped it.”

Dean gets to his feet. “What?”

“Destiny can’t be changed, Dean,” Castiel says, turning. “All roads lead to the same destination.”

And that’s just fucking infuriating. Why didn’t he bother to mention this earlier, when he was talking to Dean about how his actions would change the future, and all the people he’d saved would die? So much bullshit. “Then why’d you send me back?”

“For the truth. Now you know everything we do,” Castiel says, as maddeningly cryptic as usual.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Instead of answering, Castiel tilts his head toward the other bed, Sam’s bed. Dean follows his line of sight and notices for the first time that his brother is missing.

“Where’s Sam?” he asks, worry seeping into his tone.

“We know what Azazel did to your brother. What we don’t know is why, what his endgame is. He went to great lengths to cover that up.”

“Where’s Sam?” Dean demands.

“425 Waterman,” Castiel says. Dean stalks past Castiel and moves toward the door, grabbing his jacket and shrugging it on. Meanwhile, Castiel continues, “Your brother is headed down a dangerous road, Dean. We’re not sure where it leads, so stop it. Or we will.”

The angel doesn’t raise his voice at all, yet he still manages to make his tone more intense—the last three words make Dean turn to look at him, because there’s no doubt that Castiel is threatening him.

And it’s different from the last time. In Bobby’s kitchen—Dean still isn’t sure if that was a dream or what, because he only remembers waking up, doesn’t remember lying on the ground to go back to sleep—Castiel had been intimidating, but deep down Dean had been sure that the angel wouldn’t actually send him back to Hell, not after all the effort it must have taken to pull him out.

Now, Castiel’s words are menacing, with intent, and when Dean meets his eyes, he can tell that Castiel _will_ act, if he needs to. This isn’t an empty threat.

Dean blinks, and Castiel’s gone.

He frowns, but then he’s on the move again. 425 Waterman—he needs to find Sam, find out what he’s up to.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_The angels all land close but not too close, and they look wary._

_“Leliel,” one of them says, and Lilith remains still, waiting._

_These are the angels that want to take her away from Father. She remembers them, abstractly, recognizes the varying shades of their Graces, but she feels none of the fondness she once did for her brothers. They wish to take her away from Father, so they must be defeated._

_“Leliel,” another says, concern coloring his voice, and still she remains unmoved._

_She’s outnumbered, and she remembers how skilled of fighters these three winged creatures, these former brothers, are: Arariel, of the waters; Barachiel, the princely guardian; Azrael, the fastest blade of Heaven and Michael’s favorite. Yet despite what she knows, she feels no fear. They will never take her alive, and she fears not death. The worst fate would be living without Father. She won’t endure that._

_Azrael extends a tendril of his Grace toward her, hesitant. She no longer has her wings, and she can smell their concern, their fear, and this is her advantage. This is her salvation._

_She grasps that branch, that manifestation of mercy, and rips into it ruthlessly, her only intent to cause as much pain as possible. He cries out, and the forest around them flattens to nothing. Stunned, Barachiel and Arariel do not react at first, and Lilith struggles with Azrael, ducks his blade and tears harder into him, into the heart of his being._

_But he thrusts her away, and she dances out of reach of Barachiel and Arariel. They take flight, cornering her, but when Barachiel lunges, she skips to the side, shoves him forward so that his momentum carries him into Arariel. However, Arariel is too quick and vanishes with a flap of his wings. She hears him land behind her and spins, catching his blade before he can sink it into her middle._

_And then Azrael is upon her, having recovered from her attack far too quickly for her liking. This is why he is one of the most fearsome warriors of Heaven._

_Pinned, with the point of a blade hovering just above her right eye, she makes a show of submitting, of surrender, and as expected, Azrael takes pity and sheathes his blade._

_“What has happened to you, Leliel?” he asks, eyes filled with sorrow as he looks down at her._

_She looks as well, sees the sleek black of what used to be Grace, perfect bright light that used to carry just the slightest hint of teal. But this beautiful darkness,_ this _is true perfection. Not the Grace that Azrael and the others still possess._

_She lifts herself up slightly, enough to bring their forms close together, and whispers, “My name is Lilith.”_

_And before Azrael can respond, she musters all of her strength and thrusts a fist through his Grace, twisting and pulling to siphon off some of that raw power, ignoring his cries of agony as she backs away._

_Barachiel and Arariel approach, but she throws her hands to either side, palms facing out, and the angels are pushed back, tossed to the ground. She feels them struggle to get back up, but she uses her borrowed strength to tighten her hold on them, fixes eyes of white on Azrael as he staggers back to his feet. He’s too powerful for her to pin, and besides, both of her hands are occupied._

_“What_ are _you? Brother, what has become of you?” Azrael asks, horrified._

_“I was reborn,” Lilith answers._

_Then she hears Father calling for her, summoning her. Simultaneously, Lilith senses the approach of more angels, more foes. Father is protective of her, wants her to avoid capture—the realization makes her so happy. She has proven herself, and he has deemed her worthy. She releases the two angels and shifts, flees the scene to find Father. It’s harder without her wings, but she manages just the same._

_The angels don’t follow her, and she smiles._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

“You really should have taken that man to the ER,” Castiel says.

The demon freezes on the way to her car. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath.

“He died by the side of the road a few minutes ago—a reaper just collected him. It was before his time. If Sam knew, he’d be so disappointed in you.”

“Are you here to kill me?” she asks without turning to face him.

“Ruby, you wound me.”

She turns around, and her eyes widen as she takes in his identity. “ _You_ ,” she breathes, clearly relieved. “Oh, wow. You’re so much more…” she shakes her head. “I hardly even recognize you in that pretty little meatsuit. Where’d you find it?”

“Pontiac, Illinois. I think he’s my favorite so far—I’m inclined to keep him,” Castiel says. “He didn’t exactly have the best style, but a wardrobe change was easy enough.”

Ruby shrugs. “And of course they’d let _you_ break the rules,” she says, and Castiel can tell she’s only _just_ stopping herself from rolling her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

So the lower level demons still don’t know what he’s done. That’s a good sign—means Lilith and Alastair are worried. “Gathering information,” he says, and it’s not even a lie.

“Mhmm,” she says, eyeing him skeptically. “And what do you think _I_ would be able to tell you?”

“Not much, at the moment,” Castiel says. “I see Sam’s… honing his abilities.”

Ruby looks back and forth warily. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be talking like this. Are you… are you even supposed to be on Earth?”

“Of course I am,” Castiel says, the lie springing to his lips as easy as anything. “Why shouldn’t we be talking like this? What is there for us to fear?”

Ruby actually does roll her eyes this time. “You don’t understand—of _course_ you don’t. You don’t have to worry about angels or demons hunting you down. Look, I’m not just going to stand out here in the open with you. So either get in my car, or flap off right now. Because I’m leaving.”

With that, she turns around and walks the rest of the way to her vehicle.

Castiel’s sitting in the passenger seat before she even gets the door open. “What do you know about Dean Winchester’s resurrection?” he asks.

“They’re saying an angel took him,” Ruby answers as she starts the car. “Obviously I wasn’t down there when it happened, but I heard dozens of angels stormed Hell—more than anyone’s seen in millennia.”

“Where’d you hear this?”

“Sources. If I tell you who they are, they won’t talk to me anymore. They still think I’m—you know.”

“Fair enough. You’re sure that it was an angel who raised Dean, though.”

She nods. “Sam confirmed it.”

“Any idea which angel it was?”

“No.” Ruby frowns at him. “Why… why are you asking me? Shouldn’t you already know? I thought you were supposed to be—”

“You don’t need to know my part as long as you do yours properly. Speaking of which, you need to be more careful. Meg’s back on Earth, and she’s looking for you. She was getting close when I approached you,” Castiel says. Ruby’s eyes widen, but Castiel reassures her by saying, “I sent her in the opposite direction—don’t worry.”

Ruby groans. “Ugh, I _hate_ this. Tell that to Lilith for me, will you?”

Castiel smiles. “I don’t need to tell her anything. Trust me, she knows.”

“And she doesn’t give a damn. I know,” Ruby says, glaring at the road. “Are we done here?”

“I have a parting gift for you.”

Ruby looks at him suspiciously but says nothing. Castiel reaches into an inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out a hex bag, holds it up briefly before placing it on the dashboard.

“What’s it for?” Ruby asks, wrinkling her nose.

“Yes, I apologize for the smell,” Castiel says. “It’s a hex bag. Should keep you hidden from angels, demons, pretty much anything supernatural.”

She arches an eyebrow. “And you’re giving it to me. For free.”

“For your cooperation.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Take it or leave it. But Meg’s back, and you know how good at tracking she is.”

Ruby considers this for a moment. “If I copy the ingredients from this hex bag…?”

“Yes, it’s replicable.”

She deliberates for just a bit longer before conceding. “Fine, I’ll take it,” she says, snatching the hex bag from the dash and pocketing it.

“Wise choice,” Castiel says. “I’ll be seeing you.”

“Yeah, look forward to it,” Ruby scoffs.

Castiel spreads his wings wide and takes off.

It is currently September 23rd. According to Inias, the angels will soon attempt to establish contact with Dean and test whether or not the Righteous Man is fit for battle—whether or not he is ready for the apocalypse. But… is there any way for them to plan this ahead of time?

Perhaps there is a seal that has some sort of a time limitation.

Castiel once had all of the seals, six hundred or so, memorized. But he hadn’t cared about them, decided that they were safe to forget, because surely, _surely_ , the apocalypse wouldn’t be happening anytime soon, and even if it did, Castiel wouldn’t be participating in it.

Now, he’s neck-deep in this crap, and all for what? A pretty soul from the pit.

He hates himself sometimes.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_The other angels arrive in time to see Leliel—no, the thing that used to be Leliel—toss their brothers to the ground as though they’re mere puppets. Azazel hovers on the brink of breaching the membrane onto the human plane, as do the others. But Azrael had told them to stay back, not to approach unless he asked it of them, and because they are obedient, they stop, watch, and wait._

_Then Leliel vanishes, and it’s astonishing that he is able to do that, even though he obviously lacks wings._

_Azrael gives the signal then, the one for them all to return to Heaven. Azazel lingers, watches as Arariel and Barachiel go to support Azrael. Then he turns toward home._

_Upon arrival in Heaven, all of the angels hear Michael’s call and go to him, prepared to report even though they know that only Azrael will be speaking. Azazel stands with the rest of his brothers and waits for their eldest brother to speak, waits for the word of their Father._

_Soon, Azrael appears, flanked by Barachiel and Arariel. He holds them back when they try to support him, steps forward so that he stands separate from the rest, alone before Michael._

_“Brother,” Michael says gravely. “What has happened to Leliel?”_

_Azrael hesitates for a moment, and Azazel wonders how he plans to explain this, the impossible change that Lucifer has wrought upon their brother. But then Azrael speaks, and the entire Host listens._

_“Leliel is no longer a brother of ours,” he says softly. “His Grace has gone, has been corrupted into a dark and horrifying shape that bears some resemblance to the soul that each human possesses. We could not see how Lucifer forced this change upon him, but Leliel could have killed me today—could have killed all three of us. He calls himself Lilith, now, and speaks of rebirth as though Lucifer has granted him new life.”_

_It is silent for a moment, and the Host waits._

_“I am afraid, Michael,” Azrael says, and this is not a small confession—admitting to fear is something done in private, and admitting to it before the entire Host is practically unheard of. “Lilith is a new kind of creature, something we have never encountered before. His strength is remarkable. We were unprepared for combat.”_

_This makes sense, Azazel reasons, because they hardly fight in Heaven. There’s never been a need. But now, it appears that power matters, and that Leliel seems to have just as much power, if not more, than Azrael and, by extension, Anael and Raguel. Azazel can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have all of that power, resting at his fingertips, his to command at will._

_Finally, Michael speaks. “This is grave news. Father has warned me of the coming of this new threat, and he has declared it to be against his will. We angels were made to be perfect, unchanging—incapable of being changed. Yet Lucifer has set about changing one of our brothers and has succeeded in corrupting him. This act of disobedience, of blasphemy, cannot be forgiven.”_

_Michael pauses, clearly pained by the words. All of Heaven knows of the strong bond between Michael and Lucifer, the first brothers. It is not a surprise that Michael feels Lucifer’s betrayal more keenly than any other._

_“When he deserted us, he became an exile. But with this act, he makes himself our enemy.”_

_It was already silent before, but after this declaration, the entire Host stills, because these are words that cannot be taken back, words of God, and they demand war, for surely with the rise of an enemy will follow war._

_“Michael,” Gabriel says. “Surely Father wouldn’t want Lucifer to be our enemy—wouldn’t want us to turn against each other. Brother against brother… how could he possibly—”_

_“Are you questioning God’s will, then? Father has chosen to speak to all of you through me. Do you doubt the authenticity of my words?”_

_Gabriel looks angry, mutinous, but he subsides. Azazel looks around at his brothers. They’re all looking to Michael for the next words of God, but Azazel finds himself watching Gabriel instead, wondering why he would dare challenge the eldest so brazenly. Is there something he knows that the rest of the Host does not?_

_Probably, yes. But Michael is the eldest, and God speaks to him, so he must be right._

_Then, Michael speaks the words that they’ve all been dreading. “War is coming. Father has shown me the path we must take. It will be long and arduous, will test us all. But as long as we have faith in the plan, we will prevail.”_

_Azazel dislikes the idea of war. He is not the strongest fighter, and he does not think himself favored if paired in battle against one of his brothers. After seeing today what Leliel—Lilith—has become capable of, he wonders how it happened, how Lilith grew to be so fearsome and powerful._

_The angels disperse with permission from Michael, and Azazel flies away, to a realm with which he is familiar._

_Hours later, Arariel appears beside him. “Hello, brother.”_

_Azazel turns to look at him. “Arariel. What are you doing here?” He and Arariel have never been close, and it is strange that he has come to visit now._

_“You were thinking dangerous thoughts, earlier.”_

_Azazel stiffens. “How did you—”_

_“Because I was looking for the signs.”_

_“You were…” Azazel lets his voice trail off, really looks at his brother, and the realization hits him. “It is because you want it, too.”_

_Arariel nods. “I am ashamed. But you were not there, brother. You did not feel how it was to be completely helpless, held down in such a way and entirely at his mercy.”_

_“I saw enough,” Azazel murmurs. He looks at Arariel again. “And no other in the Host—”_

_“None. They are too blinded by faith, unable to see where true power lies,” Arariel responds. “But I fear what will become of us in Father’s eyes, if we leave.”_

_“You truly are considering this, then. Leaving Heaven,” Azazel says._

_“Yes. Our brothers—_ we _—are weak, compared to Lucifer and Lilith. The humans that Father has asked us to worship are weak, too. You’ve seen their souls, bright and beautiful but as useless as crystalline urns. Hierarchies are based on power. Should we not strive for the end that gives us the most power?”_

_“Your words ring true to me, brother.”_

_“Lilith should not have been possible,” Arariel continues. “As Michael said, we were made to be unchanging. Yet Lucifer managed to create Lilith from Leliel. Doesn’t that mean he knows more than Michael? He has created. He is closer to Father than any other one of us.”_

_Azazel is silent for a long moment, taking in the truth of his brother’s words. Then he says, “I do have one concern, if we are to abandon Heaven to join our lost brothers.”_

_“Speak.”_

_“How will we convince Lucifer of our sincerity? After his latest action, he will surely know that Heaven has declared war upon him and Lilith. He will not trust us.”_

_“A valid concern,” Arariel says, “but it is one that I do not think we should trouble ourselves with. Lucifer is far more powerful than the two of us combined. I doubt he will think of us as a threat if we present ourselves before him and submit to his will.”_

_Azazel nods. “When shall we leave, then?”_

_Arariel thinks upon this for a moment. “Soon. I will come for you.”_

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Someone—or some _thing_ —has been circling the Winchesters.

It’s dangerous, that much Castiel knows. Whatever it is, it’s dogged, won’t give up the chase. Castiel’s been kept plenty busy, making sure to distract it from their trail. Every time he returns to them, he can sense its presence _just_ starting to get close, and he has to draw it away, shield them as best he can behind some temporary wards on their car.

But the wards never hold—they’re not meant to be used on moving objects, after all, so it’s a wonder that they’re holding at all.

He doesn’t understand what would be hunting them so diligently. He knows it’s not an angel, knows it’s not a demon, because they’re safely hidden away from either of those two sides, at least for the time being—Castiel’s made sure of that.

Why hasn’t Ruby passed the hex bag on, yet? He’d counted on her giving it to Sam, because he knows that Sam trusts her. He would attempt to pass it on to Dean, but that wouldn’t work so well, given that Dean hates witches and anything that remotely resembles witchcraft. Hex bags unfortunately fall directly into this category.

Oh. Sam’s stopped trying to use his powers. It makes sense that he’d have stopped talking to Ruby, too. Well, that blows a hole in Castiel’s plans.

He looks over at the two men in their motel room and— _there_. There it is again, brushing close but not close enough, like it’s searching in the general area and hasn’t quite figured out where exactly the Winchesters are.

Castiel instantly murmurs a few words, sees the shimmering quality settle over the human plane—it’s invisible to them, of course, but Sam and Dean should be untraceable for the next two days, provided this hunt lasts that long. He doesn’t pay much attention to their hunts, and he realizes now that he probably should, if only so that he knows where they’re headed.

He takes flight, shifting quickly between multiple dimensions to draw the thing’s attention. And then he flees as fast as he can, the unknown creature following determinedly behind him.

Castiel knows that he’ll be able to shake it off, just like the other times, but he worries. What if one time he doesn’t get to the boys soon enough, and the thing, whatever it is, catches them? He went through more than a little trouble to pull Dean out of Hell, and he’s not about to let it all go to waste at the hands of some unnamed foe.

He also worries for himself—he’s not exactly the most invulnerable creature in the universe. And it’s not as though he isn’t on the run already. There’s a tentative balance he’s maintaining right now, a tenuous line he’s walking. He’s in perilous waters, and there’s not much he can do—sink or swim.

It’d be a hell of a lot easier to just sink, but for Dean Winchester, for this tiny, insignificant pinprick of a human, he’s swimming.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_Just the usual stuff, Sammy. Nothing I can’t handle._

The words echo around in Sam’s head, and he doesn’t like them. He remembers the look on Dean’s face when he asked about his hallucinations. Dean had looked at Sam, and… Sam’s positive that Dean had looked scared of him.

He closes his eyes, tries to think of something else. But the next thing that pops into his head is the wild look on Jack Montgomery’s face as he lunged for Sam. He wishes that Jack could’ve resisted, wishes he were still alive right now, because it’d be proof. _Proof_ that it doesn’t matter who you are, only what you do. Sam has to believe that, has to believe that he’s more than the blood Azazel fed to him.

God, he wishes it were gone, wishes it were out of him. He knows that that isn’t gonna happen, so the least he can do is _help_ people with it. He also can’t deny that he likes how it feels, all that power coursing through his veins. It makes him stronger, makes him feel like he can do anything.

But he saw what happened to Jack, saw how a perfectly reasonable person became… _that_. And he can’t let that happen to himself. He hasn’t heard from Ruby in a while, but he hasn’t tried to contact her, either. He figures she’s probably lying low, at least for now. Is he really going to turn her down the next time she gets in touch with him? She was the one who came to him, took care of him while Dean was gone, and helped him so much with his abilities. He can’t just… turn her away.

Dean refuses to understand, refuses to open his mind a little and even _try_ to see things from Sam’s perspective. But, Sam reminds himself, Dean doesn’t know what it feels like, doesn’t know how it feels to have this _disease_ in his body.

And really, Dean’s one to talk. All that stuff about keeping secrets is utter bullshit. It’s not as though Dean’s been completely straightforward with Sam. Really, has he _ever_ been? He never talks about things, always makes Sam force it out of him, like it’s a burden to have someone who actually cares about him. Dean needs to _grow up_.

_Nothing I can’t handle_.

Bullshit. But Sam’s not going to call him on it yet. He’s got years’ worth of experience dealing with Dean, and now’s not the right time.

Sam’s startled out of his thoughts by Dean, rapping on the window. Sam opens the door, and Dean thrusts a room key into his lap.

“Room 11, that way,” Dean says, pointing to his left. “Get a move on, Sleeping Beauty.”

Sam wasn’t sleeping, but he doesn’t bother to point that out.

He gets to his feet, shuts the door and looks over to see Dean pulling the trunk open, digging their bags out. Sam heads over toward the room with two metallic 1’s nailed onto it. One of them is crooked, and Sam wonders how long it’s been like that. Or maybe it’s always been crooked, because motels like these don’t care as much about these kinds of details.

He sticks the key in the lock and turns it, swings the door open.

There’s someone sitting on one of the beds, his back to the door, and Sam’s instantly on the offensive. “Who are you?” he demands, dropping the keys and drawing his gun.

“Sam! Sam, wait!” he hears Dean shouting, and then his brother’s in the room, hand pressing down on Sam’s arm. “It’s Castiel,” Dean says. “The angel,” he adds needlessly—Sam recognizes the name.

And then the man— _angel_ , the angel who _pulled Dean out of Hell_ —is standing, moving around the bed to face Sam and Dean. God, all the years of praying, and being teased by Dean for having faith, and now, finally, right before him stands the proof that he was right to have faith. That there _is_ a God.

“Hello, Sam,” the angel says in a low voice.

“Oh my god—” shit, taking the Lord’s name in vain, shouldn’t have done that “—er, uh—I didn’t mean to—sorry. It’s an honor, really. I—I’ve heard a lot about you,” Sam says, stumbling over his words. He extends a hand, and when Castiel doesn’t immediately move to shake his hand, he realizes that angels mostly likely don’t greet each other this way, and he might be unfamiliar with the concept.

But then Castiel is grasping Sam’s hand and saying, “And I you, Sam Winchester.” He brings his left hand up as well to sandwich Sam’s hand between them as he adds, “The boy with the demon blood.”

And Sam wants to flinch, pull back, because that—is that how the angels think of him? _The boy with the demon blood?_ He swallows hard, unsure how to react.

“Glad to see you’ve ceased your extracurricular activities,” Castiel continues, eyes wide and earnest, seemingly oblivious to Sam’s discomfort.

“Right, great,” Dean says, and Castiel’s eyes flick away from Sam, though his hands don’t release him. “What’re you doing here?”

“A man died four hours ago. His name is Luke Wallace,” Castiel responds.

“Okay…” Dean says, frowning. “People die all the time. What’s so special about Luke? And you can let go of my brother’s hand, now.”

Castiel looks down, mildly surprised, as though he hadn’t even realized he was still holding Sam’s hand. He lets go and steps to the side, closer to Dean, and Sam takes the opportunity to get a good look at him.

He looks… decidedly more human that Sam would have expected, even though Dean _did_ say—blasphemous as always—that he looked like a holy runway model. He’s wearing a high-quality black leather jacket with an expensive-looking dark blue shirt underneath, but Sam finds his eyes drawn most to the intense blue of Castiel’s eyes, hardly blinking and focused on Dean like nothing else matters in the world.

Well, Dean _is_ the human that Castiel was ordered to drag out of Hell—it makes sense that the angel would pay special attention to him.

“It is a case. He died due to ingestion of razor blades in Halloween candy,” Castiel says.

“People _actually_ die because of that?” Dean says.

“Apparently, Luke Wallace did,” Castiel says, deadpan.

“Okay, and you want us to check it out?” Dean asks. When Castiel nods, Dean says, “Dude, why can’t you do it on your own? You’re an angel, a ‘soldier.’ You can deal with this yourself.”

Castiel shakes his head. “This witch is… very powerful. He has managed to hide himself from supernatural beings. I need—”

“Oh, so it’s fine for you to ask me for help, but when I tell you that you shoulda helped us out with the witnesses, you give me this spiel about not perching on shoulders,” Dean says, and Sam glances over at his brother for a moment because he’s never heard about this before. There—another example of Dean being a hypocrite and keeping things from Sam.

“Dean,” Castiel says, sounding exasperated, “this is not personal. I have orders. I intend to follow them.”

“Why is this witch special?” Sam breaks in before Dean can speak.

“He is attempting to raise Samhain. The raising of Samhain is one of the sixty-six seals—he cannot be allowed to rise,” Castiel explains.

“So this is about your buddy, Lucifer,” Dean says.

“Yes. The town is Mahnomen, Minnesota, and the ritual will be performed on Halloween night.”

“But today’s the twenty-ninth,” Sam says. “We don’t even have two full days.”

“Then I suggest you hurry.” The angel vanishes abruptly, and Sam backs up a step, shocked.

“Yeah, he does that,” Dean says—he doesn’t look fazed in the least by Castiel’s sudden disappearance, and Sam wonders exactly how many times Dean and Castiel have spoken, because it seems like Dean is pretty damn familiar with him.

“We should probably get on the road, then,” Sam says.

They’re in Missoula, Montana, ready to investigate a potential vamp case, but Minnesota is at least a fourteen hour drive from where they are, and that’s just to the border. If they need to get there and finish the case before Halloween night, they’d better get moving.

“I’ll just give Bobby a call, let ‘im know that there’s a potential case out here,” Sam says, pulling out his cell phone.

Dean groans and picks the bags back up from where he’d dropped them at the door. “Wonder if we can get a refund on the room, huh?”

Sam rolls his eyes as he follows Dean out of the motel room. Bobby picks up on the third ring, and Sam explains the situation to him. Bobby’s unhappy—he doesn’t think very highly of Castiel, mostly because of Pamela, and god, Sam doesn’t know how he managed to forget that Castiel was the one who burned her eyes out.

He hangs up a few minutes later and glances at Dean. “You want me to drive for a bit? You drove most of the way here—it was more than ten hours.”

“Nah, I’m super.”

“You sure? I mean, you _did_ almost die of fright.”

“I’m fine, Sammy. All right? Cured.”

“Okay, then,” Sam says, leaning back in his seat and getting comfortable.

“Man, I hate witches,” Dean grouses after a moment.

“I know, Dean. I know.”

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_Lucifer is pleased by the two new additions to his following. He’d been right to consider Arariel a worthy candidate, but he hadn’t anticipated that Azazel would be tempted by the power he saw in Lilith. It was a pleasant surprise, certainly._

_While working on Arariel and Azazel, Lucifer took his time, experimented some more. After all, it seemed Heaven wasn’t particularly keen on sacrificing angels to the cause without more training. So no angels were coming after these two runaways, which meant Lucifer had all the time he wanted to work with them, twist them to his liking._

_But he soon found that the only way to turn these two angels was to permanently rip their wings to shreds as he did with Lilith. The rest of the torture did not help his cause, though it was rather interesting._

_Azazel has chosen to keep his name, but Arariel has rechristened himself Alastair._

_After commanding that they fight each other a few times—without killing each other, of course—Lucifer has deduced that Lilith is more powerful than Alastair and Azazel. The two new arrivals are tied when placed in direct combat—one is just as likely to win a duel as the other. But their strengths lie in different places. Alastair has more overall strength, while Azazel is sly, winning most of his battles by strategy._

_This also pleases Lucifer—he likes that his latest followers balance each other out. The fact that they are evenly matched is also convenient, because it encourages competition, which in turn accelerates self-improvement._

_But this isn’t enough, not if what Alastair and Azazel have said is true._

_Michael—Lucifer knows that God is not in Heaven, that Father has left the building, and thus that Michael is the one giving orders—has declared Lucifer to be an enemy of Heaven. The fact that Alastair and Azazel came to Lucifer despite makes him value them all the more, because they are loyal to_ him _._

_It is extremely rare for an angel to truly lose faith; it is far more likely that the angel will transfer that faith over to something else. So the brothers’ choice to join Lucifer is a sign that they have transferred their faith in Heaven over to faith in Lucifer, and this is something he appreciates._

_Still, he doesn’t have enough power to truly stand against Heaven, if that is going to be the game they play. Lilith, Alastair, and Azazel may be more powerful than their angel counterparts now, but this is because the occupants of Heaven are grossly out of practice—it has been centuries since quarrels had to be settled through violence, and the warriors of Heaven are not what they once were. When Michael has them all trained into top shape, their strengths should become comparable again._

_What Lucifer needs is more fighters. After all, there is strength in numbers._

_But it’s highly unlikely that any more angels will fall prey to the lure of Lucifer’s power, not now that Michael has already declared him to be an enemy. Alastair and Azazel were a surprise, something that Lucifer had not been expecting._

_He resolves to think on it for some time before sharing his concerns with his new flock. Let them think themselves invulnerable for the time being._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Castiel senses that strange presence around the Winchesters again and wishes it would just _show itself_ , because the suspense is getting to be too much. He spreads his wings wide, flaps them once, twice, three times, and feels the creature take note of him.

Tiredly, he lifts off and flies away at a manageable speed, not wanting to wear himself out too quickly. Last time was a fucking close call. This thing has excellent stamina—it doesn’t seem to get tired at all, because it never slows its pace.

Castiel had only gotten away last time by pulling a dangerous, stupid stunt. He’d put on a last, reckless burst of speed and shifted through several different planes in rapid succession, even briefly dipping into Hell. He’d finally stopped in New Zealand, waiting several long minutes to ensure that he’d really lost it before making his way back.

It had taken a lot out of him, and even now, his wings still feel sore.

He spirals upward for a short while, but then he notices that the presence is gone. What—is it not chasing him anymore? He swoops back, takes a long arc around so that he can see the town where the Winchesters should be.

And the mystery creature is there, circling the town but not moving in. It clearly knows where the Winchesters are, but it isn’t trying to take them, as though it’s waiting for something, and for a long moment, Castiel doesn’t understand.

And then it clicks. Sam and Dean Winchester are just bait—the thing isn’t after the humans.

It’s after _him_.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Dean’s still thinking about the chubby little kid in the astronaut suit when Sam jerks into attack mode, gun drawn and cocked. Dean rapidly follows his brother into the motel room, a hand on his gun for backup, but the two men in the room don’t move. One is black and bald, standing close to the window with his back facing the door. The other is sitting on the bed farther from the doorway, facing Sam and Dean. He looks up and smiles faintly at Dean.

“Who are you?” Sam demands.

The strangers exchange glances, and Dean lets his eyes flit to the beds for a moment. It looks as though nothing’s been touched, but he can’t be sure.

“Hello, Dean. Sam,” the sitting one says. He gets to his feet, starts toward them.

“Don’t move,” Sam says, brandishing his gun, and the man stops.

“That gun won’t hurt me,” he says. “My name is Inias. I am an angel of the Lord. This is my associate, Uriel.”

“Oh, god,” Dean mutters under his breath.

Sam lowers his gun a fraction but brings it right back up. “Dean?” he says.

Dean shakes his head. “I’ve never seen them before—hell, you’ve met Cas. This isn’t—”

“Cas?” the dark-skinned man— _angel_ —says. His voice is low, booming. He turns toward them, an angry look on his face. “Not Castiel?”

“Yeah, Castiel,” Dean says. “Your buddy, huh?”

The sour look on Uriel’s face might suggest otherwise, but before Dean can comment, Inias is speaking. “Castiel is busy with other matters,” he says. “He asked for us to come in his stead.”

Dean frowns. “Yeah, and why are we supposed to trust you on that? Cas hasn’t ever mentioned you before.”

Inias looks down, and Dean doesn’t really know what to think. Is the dude really an angel or not? But then it gets dimmer around them, and Dean glances back out the open door to see that the sky is turning dark. Sam tenses visibly, and Dean reaches out to put a hand on his arm, because he doesn’t want Sam to shoot, not yet. Besides, if these guys really are angels, Dean already knows how that course of action would turn out—he’s tried it himself.

And then there’s the loud, unmistakable crack of thunder, accompanied by the flash of lightning that somehow manages to shine _into the fucking motel room_ and cast shadows of large wings behind Inias. Dean can’t help but notice that Castiel’s wings looked bigger, much more impressive, and where the hell did _that_ thought come from? He hadn’t even seen _wings_ —they were _shadows_.

Dean’s hand drops, and he realizes that it’s because Sam’s lowered his gun.

“Oh wow, uh. Wow,” Sam says, and really, this kid went to college? But Dean’s not really one to talk—he was pretty damn shocked by the whole wing display thing when Cas pulled it.

“Okay, great. So Cas sent you. Why?” Dean asks.

“Where is Castiel?” Uriel asks, and that doesn’t really make sense.

“Shouldn’t you know?” Dean responds. “He’s one of yours, anyway.”

Uriel says nothing, and Inias answers, “My brother is worried about Castiel.”

Dean snorts. “Oh, is that what this is? Concern? ‘Cause it sure doesn’t look like it to me,” he says. For some odd reason, he feels strangely protective over Cas. Or maybe he just doesn’t like the look on Uriel’s face when he says Cas’s name.

“It is…” Inias pauses, eyes screwed up as he thinks, before continuing, “…difficult. These human vessels are limited, and it is difficult for us to express our emotions through them, especially when we have not inhabited them for a long enough period of time.”

“So what you’re saying is that you’re not used to your meatsuits yet,” Dean says.

“Precisely.”

Dean shakes his head, because that’s something he’s never thought about before. Demons have always taken over and been completely comfortable, but he supposes that makes sense, given that every demon was once a human at some point. But hell, this train of thought isn’t even relevant right now. “Why are you here?” he asks.

“The raising of Samhain,” Inias answers. “Have you stopped it?”

“No,” Dean says.

“Well, have you located the witch?”

“Yes, we’ve located the witch.”

“And is the witch dead?” Inias asks.

“No, but—” Sam starts.

“We know who it is,” Dean finishes.

Inias moves over to one of the nightstands. “Apparently, the witch knows who you are, too,” he says, picking up a hex bag and showing it to Sam and Dean. “This was inside the wall of your room. If we hadn’t found it, surely one or both of you would be dead. Do you know where the witch is now?”

Dean glances at Sam. “We’re working on it,” he says.

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Yeah, but we already know who she is,” Sam says. “So we can work together—”

“Enough of this,” Uriel cuts in.

“All right, what the hell is your problem?” Dean says, and ignores the chastising look his brother sends his way, because it doesn’t matter whether or not the dude’s an angel—if he’s being a dick, Dean’s gonna tell him so.

“My problem is the same as yours,” Uriel says. “The seals cannot break. Lucifer cannot rise. We do not have time for your petty discussions.”

“Okay, fine. What do you suggest?” Dean asks.

“We’re going to destroy the town,” Inias says bluntly.

Dean looks over at Sam to see worried eyes looking back at him. What the _fuck?_ “So this is your plan—you’re gonna smite the whole friggin’ town?”

“We’re out of time. This witch has to die. The seal must be saved,” Inias tries to reason, but those are crap reasons. Cas would never do this. And _whoa_ , Dean really needs to analyze where that thought came from, because apparently these guys were _sent_ by Cas.

“There are a thousand people here,” Sam’s saying in the meantime.

“One thousand, two hundred fourteen,” Uriel says.

“And you’re willing to kill them all?” Sam says, incredulous.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve… _purified_ a city,” Uriel sneers.

“Look, I understand this is regrettable,” Inias says.

“ _Regrettable?_ ” Dean repeats, eyebrows raised.

“We have to hold the line. Too many seals have broken already.”

“So you screw the pooch on some seals, and this town has to pay the price?”

“It’s the lives of one thousand against the lives of six billion. There’s a bigger picture here,” Inias says, and Dean instantly hears the last five words in Cas’s voice, back in Bobby’s kitchen, and shit, maybe this _is_ what Cas wants.

“Right,” he says, “‘cause you’re the ‘bigger picture’ kinda guys.”

“Lucifer cannot rise,” Inias says. “He does, and Hell rises with him. Is that something that you’re willing to risk?”

“We’ll stop this witch before she summons anyone,” Sam says. “Your seal won’t be broken, and no one has to die.”

“We’re wasting time with these mud monkeys,” Uriel says impatiently.

“I’m sorry, but we have our orders,” Inias says to Sam and Dean.

“No, you can’t do this,” Sam argues. “You’re _angels_. I mean, aren’t you supposed to—you’re supposed to show _mercy_.”

Uriel smirks. “Says who?”

And Dean has to watch his brother’s face fall with surprise, disappointment, and he’s pissed at these two dicks who are chipping away at Sam’s faith.

“We have no choice,” Inias says.

“Of course you have a choice,” Dean says, angry. “I mean, come on, what? You’ve never questioned a crap order, huh? What are you both, just a couple o’ hammers?”

He thinks of Cas, and his _orders_ , and wonders if Cas can even think for himself. He remembers that wide grin Cas had given him when he’d still had a knife sticking out of his chest—it had been knowing, clever, almost fucking _coy_ , now that Dean thinks about it—and it’s impossible to imagine that God would have commanded an angel to give Dean _that_ look.

“Look—even if you can’t understand it, have faith. The plan is just,” Inias says, and he seems to be getting a bit worked up now.

“How can you even say that?” Sam asks.

“Because it comes from Heaven. That makes it just.”

“Oh, it must be nice, to be so sure of yourselves,” Dean says.

Inias frowns, steps closer to him, and Dean glares at him, takes a step back. “Tell me something, Dean. When your father gave you an order, didn’t you obey?” he asks.

Dean stares at him for a moment, can’t help but imagine the same words coming out of Cas’s mouth, wondering if Cas is just as much of a hammer as these two lumps obviously are.

For some reason, he finds himself thinking that that would be extremely disappointing.

“Well, sorry boys,” he says. “Looks like the plans have changed.”

“You think you can stop us?” Uriel says, voice full of disdain.

Dean turns and steps closer to Uriel, an intimidation tactic that’ll probably do nothing against an angel, but he does it anyway. “No,” he admits. “But if you’re gonna smite this whole town, then you’re gonna have to smite us with it, because we are not leaving. See, you angels went to the trouble of busting me out of Hell, I figure I’m worth something to the man upstairs. So, you wanna waste me? Go ahead. See how he digs that.”

“I will drag you out of here myself,” Uriel threatens.

“Yeah, but you’ll have to kill me, then we’re back to the same problem,” Dean says. “I mean, come on, you’re gonna wipe out a whole town for one little witch? Sounds to me like you’re compensating for something.” He turns to Inias, and he can see that the angel is already wavering. Just a little bit more persuasion. “We can do this. We will find that witch, and we will stop the summoning.”

“Inias!” Uriel says sharply, having noticed that Inias is leaning toward Dean’s side now. “I will not let these peop—”

Inias holds up a hand and says, “Enough!” He looks over at Dean and says, “I suggest you move quickly.”

And then both angels are gone.

Sam and Dean exchange glances, and Dean wants to say something, but Sam just turns around and heads right back out the door. Those _dicks_ —as much as Dean likes to tease Sam about his faith, it obviously means a lot to him, and to have someone take that faith away… next time Dean sees them, he’s gonna punch at least one of them in the face. Preferably Uriel.

He heads out, slams the door shut behind him, and follows Sam back toward the Impala. But there’s something wrong—as he gets closer, he sees streaks of white… _eggs_. Fucking—this is his _baby!_

“Astronaut!” he barks, furious.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_Alastair is watching a group of human males participating in a wild boar hunt when he hears the call, feels the summoning from Father. He is instantly on the move, slipping between dimensions with some difficulty. He lost his wings when he was reborn, and he is still unaccustomed to traveling without them. It’s so much harder than it used to be._

_But his eyes have been opened, and his powers unlocked, and he will never begrudge Father for taking his wings away._

_Alastair reaches the others in a clearing, twisted, stumpy trees growing around them. Father stands in the center and smiles when he sees Alastair._

_“Hello, my children,” he says with a smile._

_“Father,” Lilith and Azazel chorus. Alastair says nothing, only nods._

_“As you know, Michael has declared war upon us. The three of you are powerful, yes, but there are hundreds of angels in Heaven. We are only four, and there is strength in numbers,” Father says. He pauses, letting them think about it._

_“We can capture more angels,” Lilith says. “We’ll lure them out—”_

_“You forget the nature of your former brothers,” Father says. “It is difficult to steal their allegiance from Heaven. It’ll be even more difficult now, because Michael will be reinforcing their faith.”_

_“What do you suggest, Father?” Azazel asks. This earns Azazel a smile from Father, and Alastair feels a stab of envy. He wonders if Lilith feels it, too._

_“Follow me,” Father says to them._

_Then he takes flight, and Alastair marvels at the beauty of Father’s wings. They are not pure white anymore, shot through with streaks of grey, but they look all the more beautiful for it. He, Azazel, and Lilith hurry to follow, and Alastair feels a phantom twinge from limbs that are no longer there. He still can’t help but wish that he could have retained his wings._

_Father leads them unseen through a number of human settlements, some with collections of tents and domesticated animals, some with permanent shelters made of earth or wood or straw, and still more that live in caves, taking advantage of natural rock formations._

_They return to the clearing, and Father waits for them to land around him before asking, “What did you see?”_

_“Humans,” Azazel says, and Father smiles again._

_“Precisely. We are_ surrounded _by them,” Father says. “Reapers are powerful creatures, servants of Death, and we’ve always been told to respect them. But I have learned that they are easy to manipulate, easy to trick. To steal a human soul, I have but to lift a finger. It will not be quite so easy for you, now that your Graces are changed—” when Father speaks this word, Alastair’s mind automatically supplies_ tainted _instead, an echo from another life, but he suppresses that thought instantly “—so I will take care of acquisition of souls.”_

_“What do you want us to do with them?” Lilith asks._

_“You will transform them, in the same way that I changed you,” Father says._

_This is intriguing—Alastair has spent most of the past few days watching humans while Lilith and Azazel fought each other to increase their strength, and he feels that he’s learned much about them. Now that he’s had a chance to look at them up close, he’s learned to distinguish between the many varied shades of human souls. He’s formed opinions on which are prettier, which are not._

_“In the beginning, I attempted the process on humans,” Father continues, “but they were too fragile, too weak to survive the transformation. However, I suspect that this may because I have too much strength. I nudge, and they disintegrate. So I have gathered three souls, one for each of you to try, and we will see whether or not my theory holds.”_

_Alastair glances over at Azazel and Lilith and wonders if this is a test, or a competition._

_Then Father says, “Come. I have created a new realm, one in which time moves at a different speed, so that we have more time to build our following.”_

_He spreads his majestic wings once more, and Alastair, Azazel, and Lilith cross into this new territory with him. The air feels cool, lighter and easier to move through. Father stops before a long rack, on which dangle three souls, manifested in their human shapes._

_“Begin,” Father says._

_Azazel and Lilith rip into their souls immediately, as eager to please as ever. But Alastair hesitates, takes the time to really observe the soul that has been left to him. It shines bright, as all human souls do, but upon closer inspection, it shows glimmers of red, the red of fury and violence. An unhappy life, then._

_The soul shudders as he draws near—it hears the cries of the other two and has surely divined its fate by now. So humans are still coherent after death, Alastair discovers._

_If he concentrates a little, he can see that this was a man, exiled by his tribe for some crime or other, and Alastair pulls back for a moment, reeling from the use of this power left over from another life._

_But at this point, he feels acutely aware of Father’s scrutiny, so he steps closer and lifts his blade. He can_ smell _the fear radiating from this soul, almost more potent than the pain that comes from Azazel and Lilith’s work._

_The first glide of his blade into the center of the soul is smooth and slow, and the scream that tears from it is beautiful, louder than the cries that Lilith and Azazel have drawn from their projects. Encouraged, Alastair presses harder, moves faster, observes carefully the flares of pain as they rise to the surface. It is undeniably satisfying, watching the soul attempt to shy away, screaming for mercy all the while._

_A very bright flash comes from Alastair’s left, and he looks over to see that Lilith’s soul has disintegrated._

_“Continue,” Father says to Alastair and Azazel._

_As Father shifts closer to Lilith, Alastair turns back to his own work. He knows that Lilith is stronger than he is and that she was working faster, so he needs to use restraint and drag this out in order to succeed._

_But as he continues to bury his blade in the soul, carving meticulously, nothing seems to change, and Alastair grows frustrated. Since the soul retains a human shape, he chooses to rip its limbs off, discarding the pieces to the side. The redness grows in intensity as the soul is pulled apart, and Alastair works steadily, tearing out chunks of its chest when he’s removed all that he can of its arms and legs._

_Another flash of light, and Azazel’s soul is gone as well._

_Father’s attention is solely on Alastair now, so he continues to work, slowly enough that he notices a shift in brightness, much like the change that occurs when clouds break apart to reveal the sun._

_So he stops, even though instinct tells him to keep going. The soul is silent now, misshapen to the point that it is unrecognizable as a human soul. Then, very,_ very _slowly, Alastair sheathes his blade in the soul one last time._

_Instead of glowing brighter, light seems to collapse in on itself, and Alastair backs away, surprised by this result._

_“Interesting,” Father murmurs, moving closer to the transforming soul._

_When it stops pulsing, it is a dark, ugly shape. It shies away from Father but doesn’t—can’t—escape. Father lays a hand on the quivering mass, and it arches into the touch, grateful for any contact that doesn’t bring pain._

_Alastair retreats to stand beside Azazel and Lilith, watching as Father learns the shape of the creature, begins to mold it into something more recognizable—legs take shape, followed by a body, and finally a head. It takes a moment for Alastair to identify the form._

_“This is a canine,” Azazel says._

_“Yes,” Alastair agrees, and he thinks he understands. “Father has given it a form so that it will know its place and its function. It is to take commands from us, as dogs do from humans.”_

_Azazel shakes his head. “That is insulting, placing us in any position comparable to humans.”_

_“No,” Father says. “Your brother is right. It was once human, so we must give it a form that it will understand.” He looks at Alastair, graces him with a smile. “You created this beast, so to you it will answer first and foremost. Azazel and Lilith, follow your brother’s example. This particular beast cannot reason, but I am hopeful that one of you will twist these human souls into a form of soldier that is more useful.”_

_Alastair, Azazel, and Lilith spend the next several days working on human souls collected by their father. Alastair becomes familiar with the length of time it takes to sufficiently mangle each soul until it is vicious and powerful, but near mindless._

_But he hasn’t found out how to preserve their minds yet—Azazel and Lilith have had no luck, either._

_They’ve created about fifty of these canine creatures—hounds, they’ve started calling them—when Alastair thinks to speak to one of the souls. He is not sure which language it will understand, but when he speaks Enochian, it seems to understand the meaning behind his words, if not the individual words themselves._

_He looks into the soul’s former life, sees that it—she—was a high priestess, dabbling in all sorts of magic but mostly those of offensive, violent natures. He looks into her past and searches her memories, all the while carving leisurely through her soul. At this point, Alastair is comfortable enough with his knowledge of the limits of the average human soul, and he can drag out the process or accelerate it as he wishes._

_He discovers that she was abandoned at birth, brought up in a tribe that had a shortage of fertile women. There were no other children in that tribe, and she was kept separate, secluded, safe from anything that might cause her harm._

_But then her tribe merged with another, one that had a much more balanced population, and while her tribesmen still cared about her safety, it was not of utmost importance anymore. Because of her seclusion, she had trouble integrating with the other children, who teased her mercilessly, primarily based on her status as an outsider._

_He stills his blade, and her cries peter off until she’s hanging from the rack, shivering in silence. “You never did manage to fit in, did you, my dear?” he asks, voice soft enough that only she can hear him. Intimate. “They never accepted you. And when you tried to ignore them, they sought you out for more.”_

_“W-Why are you doing this to me?” she asks._

_“All you ever wanted to do was become one of them. Isn’t that right?”_

_“Please don’t hurt me anymore,” she says._

_Alastair smiles, wicked, and looks to the right, where his next victim hangs. Azazel and Lilith are far from him, working their ways down separate racks, and no one is watching him. And besides, these souls are weak—they would not be able to escape anyway._

_So Alastair repeats his query—“Isn’t it true that all you ever wanted was to belong?” When the soul nods, Alastair says, “Well, then. If you do me a favor, I will make you belong here, and you won’t have to feel this pain anymore.”_

_The soul doesn’t respond, but it seems to vibrate in fear and anticipation when he tosses his blade back and forth between his hands. He soon grows impatient, waiting for her response, and catches the weapon a final time, spinning it in his hand so that the sharp end faces her._

_“If you get off the rack and torture that soul, right there, I won’t hurt you anymore,” Alastair says, indicating the next soul on the right._

_“Promise?” the soul asks him._

_Alastair smiles widely. “I give you my word.”_

_The soul nods, and Alastair cuts the binds keeping her fastened to the rack. She drops down and takes a moment to steady herself, hand flying out to grip the rack. She draws her hand back just as quickly, seemingly disgusted by touching it again of her own will. When Alastair passes her the blade, she accepts it without hesitation._

_Alastair backs up a step and watches as the soul steps closer until she is standing right in front of her victim. He waits patiently for her to lift the blade, and then it sinks into the fresh soul. As surmised, a tendril of darkness blooms in the depths of her soul, and Alastair beams. He’d guessed that the key to preserving the mind lay within the mind and not within further torture of their souls, and it appears that he is correct._

_The soul works fast, rips apart the other soul, but when she finishes, the shredded soul slowly knits itself back together, piece by discarded piece. Alastair’s chosen one peeks at him, worried, but he gives no indication of a response. He wants to see what she’ll do next._

_Instead of asking him for instructions, she merely starts ripping into the soul again. Human souls are resilient, Alastair has discovered, and it is easy for them to fix themselves after some forms of rough treatment. Angels can apparently tear them apart permanently, but it appears humans cannot inflict the same level of damage on each other._

_Alastair allows his chosen soul to work for a long time, and he sees that the more she rips apart the other soul, the darker her own soul becomes, until it’s a swirling mass of obsidian._

_He lays a hand on her shoulder, and when she turns to him, her eyes have turned black._

_She grins at him, sharp and predatory, and he can’t help the rush of pride in his chest._

_“My name is Meg.”_

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Castiel’s still hovering over the town, trying to figure out why a mysterious supernatural creature would be hunting him, when he realizes that he doesn’t know what’s happened to Sam and Dean. He’s been overly preoccupied with his own plight, and now he’s lost track of them.

Panic briefly takes hold, and he searches the town—carefully, because he sensed the arrival of two brothers today, and he doesn’t want them to know that he’s here. Inias and Uriel. He doesn’t know much about Inias, but he remembers Uriel, remembers that Uriel hadn’t wanted him around.

He quickly locates Sam Winchester at the cemetery, but he’s in a room that’s filled with sigils warding against angels. Castiel won’t be able to enter. He stills, casts his senses out, but doesn’t detect that supernatural creature anywhere nearby. It must have given up for the time being. He doesn’t feel safe going into the cemetery, but he can’t stand the idea of staying away. This is Samhain, not just some regular run-of-the-mill hunt that the Winchesters can easily handle. Dean could _die_.

So he lands just outside the mausoleum, watches two teens race out the door before entering, moving down a flight of steps.

At the bottom, there’s a crypt where he finds Dean, surrounded by the undead and a number of spirits recently disturbed from their rests. Castiel fully shifts into the human plane, steps forward into the crypt.

“Dean!” he roars over the din.

Dean, who’s wielding a stake and swinging it wildly, looks startled. “Cas?”

“Shut your eyes!” Castiel barks.

Two of the undead are biting at his arms, but Castiel propels them away from him with a flick of his wings, waits until Dean’s covering his eyes before unleashing his Grace to smite these creatures—he has more than enough Grace for that.

Their screams last for about fifteen seconds, and then they’re all dead, and the crypt is silent. Dean lowers the arm that he’d been using to cover his face and takes in the damage.

“Where’s Sam?” he instantly demands.

Castiel points to his right, farther into the mausoleum. Dean starts to rush past him, but Castiel places a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. Dean opens his mouth to protest, so Castiel speaks quickly. “Dean, be careful. I… I cannot enter.”

_Cannot protect you_ , he doesn’t say, and he wonders for the millionth time why he’s so protective of this single insignificant human soul.

Dean blinks, another flash of surprise in his eyes, but then he’s nodding and waiting impatiently for Castiel to release him. Castiel does as Dean wishes and removes his hand, watches as he lopes down the hall in search of his brother.

He exits the mausoleum—there is nothing left that he can do here—and catches a glimpse of Inias.

“Castiel!” Inias calls.

That’s bad news, very bad news. Castiel quickly turns tail and runs. He can hear Inias behind him, trying to keep up, but Castiel is older, much more experienced, and it’s easy to shake him off.

It belatedly occurs to him that Dean must have met Inias and Uriel by now—curse that mysterious distraction for keeping Castiel from making sure that Sam and Dean remained properly shielded from his brothers. But Dean… he can’t possibly know what Castiel is, yet, because he hadn’t reacted to Castiel’s appearance in the crypt. And well, it makes sense for Uriel and Inias to have gone with the ruse, at least temporarily, so that Dean would listen to them.

But Castiel sees now that the game is almost up. He just needs to… determine his choices and the consequences of each one, and then choose the best path.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_Michael is standing in Heaven, watching as Raguel and Azrael spar. It is only a matter of time before Lucifer returns and stages some attempt at retribution, and Michael intends to have his warriors prepared for battle by then. Angels at all different ranks are sparring, but Michael is primarily focused on his favored three—Anael stands beside him, recovering from a duel with Azrael._

_Raguel has just narrowly avoided being jabbed in the side by Azrael when Puriel appears before Michael, landing unobtrusively and waiting for Michael to acknowledge him. Michael could keep him waiting, but he likes Puriel, so he says, “What is it?”_

_“Some souls have been going missing.”_

_This in itself is not a surprise. Reapers are due souls at regular intervals, so the less righteous human souls are deemed fair prey for reapers when these intervals come to a close. Michael waits for Puriel to explain what is troubling him._

_“It has happened far too often,” Puriel continues. “I know how many reapers there are, and half that number of souls has not arrived in Heaven. Reapers never claim so many souls simultaneously. Dokiel noticed as well.”_

_“You have my attention,” Michael says. “I will determine what is happening. Return to the gates, now.”_

_“Yes, Michael.” Puriel departs silently._

_Michael watches Raguel and Azrael circle each other, intently focused. He isn’t sure what the disappearance could mean, but he does have a good idea—Death would not call for so many souls, not without reason. Perhaps he would not come to Michael directly, but he would certainly make clear the reason for the punishment before carrying it out. That leaves only one real possibility._

_“Do you think it’s Lucifer?” Anael asks._

_Michael nods. “Arariel and Azazel have left us—they could only have gone to him. Lucifer knows what Father has declared, and he surely wishes to expand his power. Human souls are a formidable source of power. It is completely logical for him to steal them on their way to Heaven.”_

_“I don’t like this, Michael. What will he do to those souls?”_

_“I don’t know. Perhaps he’ll just use them as fuel.”_

_Anael looks horrified by the possibility. “That’s a terrible fate. They don’t deserve to be burned up like that,” he says softly._

_“No, they don’t. Help me keep an eye on the gates, Anael. Stay hidden. If any brother of ours is helping them from the inside, we need to know.”_

_Anael’s surprise radiates from him. “You’re suggesting that there’s a traitor in our midst?”_

_“I think it highly unlikely. But I am not dismissing the possibility, not after Arariel and Azazel’s desertions.”_

_“Yes, of course. I take my leave, then.”_

_“Thank you, Anael.”_

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

“Tomorrow,” a deep voice says, and Sam jumps, startled. He turns and sees one of the angels from the previous day—Uriel. “November 2nd,” he continues. “It’s an anniversary for you.”

“What are you doing here?” Sam asks.

“It’s the day Azazel killed your mother, and twenty-two years later, your girlfriend, too,” Uriel says, completely ignoring Sam. “It must be difficult to bear, yet you so brazenly use the power he gave you, his profane blood pumping through your veins.”

“Excuse me?”

“You were told not to use your abilities.”

Bigoted asshole. “And what was I supposed to do? That demon would have killed me, and my brother, and everyone.”

“You were told not to,” is all Uriel says, and that’s just stupid.

“If Samhain had gotten loose in this town—”

“You’ve been warned, twice now.”

And that’s just fucking _enough_. “You know? My brother was right about you—you _are_ dicks,” Sam says.

In the blink of an eye, Uriel is standing right in front of Sam, inches away from his face, and Sam flinches, can’t help it. “The only reason you’re still alive, Sam Winchester, is because you’ve been useful. But the moment that ceases to be true, the second you become more trouble than you’re worth, one word. One, and I will turn you into dust.” Uriel backs away, but he continues, “As for your brother… tell him that maybe he should climb off that high horse of his. Ask Dean what he remembers from Hell.”

Sam’s eyes widen despite himself. What—

He wants to ask Uriel to just tell him, but there’s a flutter of wings, and then the angel is gone. Sam turns around, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

Well, he’s just gonna have to talk to Dean, then. Before, he’d suspected that Dean wasn’t telling him everything, but now… now he _knows_ , without a shadow of a doubt, that Dean’s keeping secrets. And god, how can Dean be so hypocritical? He accuses Sam of keeping things to himself when Dean’s doing pretty much the exact same thing.

Sam sighs and goes back to packing his bag. When Dean gets back from… wherever he is, they’re talking about this, and Sam’s not gonna let it go this time.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Dean’s sitting on a park bench, staring out at a playground, watching some kids play.

They’re swinging, sliding, climbing up and down the jungle gym, and he feels… conflicted. There’s the part of him that’s grateful for them, because they give him something to fight for. Their lives are the prize at the end of the day. But he’s also envious of them, envious of their innocence, their lack of responsibility, of freakin’ _destiny_.

Then there’s a shift—subtle, but Cas has dropped in enough times that Dean _feels_ him coming.

“Where are your two pals?” Dean asks without looking at him.

“Elsewhere.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m really not that fond of them.” Cas chuckles but says nothing, and Dean glances over at him. “Uriel sounded pretty eager to find you,” he comments.

“He would be,” Cas answers cryptically, and Dean frowns.

“Why?”

“It is not of import,” Cas says, and Dean’s about to protest, but Cas just keeps talking. “What happened here, it was a test. My brothers’ orders were to follow your orders.”

Dean frowns, because that makes no sense. “Their orders were to follow my orders?”

“It was a test, to see how you would perform under… battlefield conditions, you might say,” Cas says.

“It was a witch, not the Tet Offensive,” Dean says, and earns a smile from Cas. It’s strangely gratifying, and he immediately presses on. “So I uh, failed your test, huh? I get it. But you know what? If you waved that magic time-travelling wand of yours, and we had to do it all over again, I’d make the same call. ‘Cause see, I don’t know what’s gonna happen when these seals are broken. Hell, I don’t even know what’s gonna happen tomorrow. But what I do know is, that this, here? These kids, the swings, the trees… all of it is still here because of my brother and me.”

“There’s no need to get so defensive, Dean,” Cas says. “I am glad that you chose to save the town.”

“You are?” Dean can’t really understand the strange rush that comes with those words, Cas’s approval.

“These people, they’re all my father’s creations. They’re works of art,” Cas says, looking out at the kids.

Maybe Dean doesn’t really see his fellow humans that way, but he’s a hell of a lot happier with the way Cas talks about humans than the way Uriel does.

“And yet,” Cas continues, “even though you stopped Samhain, the seal was broken, and we are one step closer to Hell on Earth, for all creation. Now that’s not an expression, Dean. It’s literal. You, of all people, should appreciate what that means.”

Dean nearly winces at the memories, at the possibilities. He looks over at Cas and is surprised by the amount of understanding, of _compassion_ he sees in the angel’s eyes. Is this still the same creature that threatened to throw him back into the pit? Dean prides himself on reading people, and he knows for a fact that last night, when Cas stopped him to tell him to be careful, he was genuinely worried about Dean. And what… what is that supposed to mean?

He focuses in on Cas again, notices that Cas seems to be thinking something over. “Cas, I uh. I just wanted to say thanks,” he says.

“You are welcome.”

Dean shakes his head. “Not just for smoking those bastards last night. For… for dragging me out. I know that you were following orders, but still… I never thanked you.”

Castiel gives him this pleased little smile, and it makes something stupidly warm and happy unfurl in Dean’s gut. “I had a choice, Dean. Dozens of my brothers stormed Hell. I did not have to be the one to drag you out, nor did I have to rebuild your body as I did.”

“You… you never told me.”

“You never asked.”

Dean’s eyes drop to the ground. “Thank you sounds pretty insufficient at this point, huh?”

Cas smiles again, eyes fixed on something in the distance, and Dean wonders if he’s looking beyond the playground and into another _dimension_ or something. “You said that given the chance to do it over, you would make the same call,” he says. He turns his head toward Dean. “I would, too.”

There’s something _heavy_ in his gaze, something that scares Dean with its intensity, and he has to look away, at the kids in the playground. He hears the sound of wings, and when he looks back, the angel is gone.


	2. Abomination

_Father is very pleased with Alastair and does not bother to hide it—Meg is an unequivocal success, more powerful than they’d expected, given that she was once human. But Father described it as a proper channeling of power for a better purpose, and Azazel supposes that that makes sense. Human souls do hold a substantial amount of power, and it isn’t surprising that it can be converted for their own use._

_Azazel and Lilith still have not managed the transformation, but Alastair has already created two more sentient beings—demons, Father termed them. Azazel understands that the transformation has to do with corruption of the soul through torturing its own kind, but there are varying levels of torture that the soul has to suffer before it will work. A pristine soul cannot be persuaded to tear apart another, and one that has been too mangled does not have enough strength to deal much damage._

_Despite having watched Alastair at work, Azazel still cannot see how his brother determines the ideal moment to stop. It doesn’t help that each soul can tolerate different amounts of pain before “breaking,” as Alastair says._

_Thus far, Azazel has had slightly more luck than Lilith, but Azazel’s advantage lies only in the fact that Lilith is stronger than he is and has less control over her fury when a soul proves to be too frustrating._

_Alastair receives profuse praise from Father for his work, and the jealousy this inspires in Azazel is near impossible to ignore. He knows for a fact that Lilith feels it as well, from the way hatred flickers in her eyes whenever Alastair is nearby._

_A few months pass in this space of extended time, and Azazel manages to create a three successful demons. Meanwhile, Alastair’s numbers have reached sixteen, and Lilith still has yet to create one that can be used._

_Azazel has just taken a soul from the rack and placed it in front of another to start torturing when Father appears before him, stealing his attention._

_“Please, carry on,” Father says._

_Azazel nods and instructs the soul on how to slice up its first victim, watches with pleased eyes as its soul darkens with the first strike. He thinks he is finally learning to appreciate the subtle shades of human souls in the way that Alastair instinctively did from the beginning._

_“I have a task for you,” Father says a moment later. Azazel turns to face him and waits for the order. “I do not wish to steal souls from reapers anymore. It’s boring, frankly, and a waste of my time.”_

_“Do you want me to try in your stead?” Azazel asks._

_“No. You aren’t strong enough to trick a reaper,” Father answers. “If a reaper tells Heaven what we are attempting to accomplish here, war will rain down upon us, and we are not yet ready for that. No—we need to use a different approach.”_

_“I am at your disposal.”_

_“The majority of human souls go to Heaven, but the worst sinners are taken by reapers, for their own purposes. No one really knows much about what they are used for, but that is because we don’t know much about Death. Regardless, we know that Heaven does not miss sinners. Not in the way that it would miss righteous souls, at least.”_

_“So you want me to lure souls to us through sin,” Azazel says._

_“Not exactly, but you have the correct idea. Humans have free will—they may choose to live and die however they wish, so if they make the choice to come to us after death, there is nothing Heaven can do to intervene. Taking sinners is simply the best way to avoid detection,” Father says, and Azazel feels proud of himself for having come close to the correct conclusion._

_“Shall I ask for Alastair and Lilith to come as well?” he asks._

_Father shakes his head. “Let them stay. Alastair is building our army, and Lilith needs to learn how to create a demon. I entrust this mission solely to you.”_

_Azazel nods. “Would you like me to leave now, or should I finish overseeing this soul?”_

_Father considers this for a moment before closing his eyes and mouthing a name—Alastair—in what is clearly a summoning. Alastair appears promptly._

_“Father,” he says._

_“Your first demon—Meg—how has she fared?” Father asks._

_“She has talent for this work,” Alastair responds. “She is also closer to human than any of us ever were, so it is easier for her to notice the subtle shifts in her subjects.”_

_“Well, then. Azazel is going back to Earth for a time. I will have Meg take over his project, with your supervision,” Father says._

_Alastair nods. “Yes, Father. I will bring her now.”_

_After Alastair vanishes, Azazel bows low before Father and steps out of their realm. It is different on Earth’s surface—he’d forgotten how cold it was here, how much slower time passed. On some level, he is still aware of Father’s realm, passing by more than a hundred times faster than this one. He spends one minute standing completely still, heavily focused on what is happening in Father’s realm—counting out the time, it appears two hours have passed there in the time since he left._

_Stirring, Azazel shifts through space, searching for the correct target. He is, quite honestly, unsure how he should proceed, but he hopes to accomplish this without assistance from Father, hopes that this will earn him at least as much of Father’s regard as Alastair has._

_He wastes precious minutes deliberating over the course of human life. Contrary to what Alastair thinks, Azazel_ does _pay attention to his surroundings, and he_ has _noticed many things about these lesser beings. He understands that there are different stages to human life—birth, childhood, adulthood, old age, and death—each bringing with it its own set of needs and wants._

_His problem now is discovering which stage of life it would be best to start with. Infants obviously have no capacity to choose, so those are out of the question. Children, too, are unlikely candidates. So the choice rests between adults and the elderly._

_Adults need to both protect and provide for their families, so they stand to gain the most from the powers at Azazel’s disposal—he’s already decided that he can do favors for them, in exchange for their souls. As soon as they’ve decided to return to Father’s realm with him, it will be easy to press them in the right directions, manipulate their souls into sin. Humans are so defenseless against temptation._

_The advantage of preying on elderly humans is that their souls will come sooner—it has already been declared by Father that they are not to slay humans without great cause. Father doesn’t wish to draw Heaven’s attention, and such blatant disregard for humanity will surely do just that. Thus, elderly humans are closer to natural death and will be able to be worked upon sooner than younger ones._

_After weighing his choices, Azazel decides to appear before an old man, dying of some disease or other, or perhaps just old age. He identifies himself as an angel and offers to grant the man one wish, if the man agrees to come with him._

_The old man says nothing, only looks up at Azazel, and when their eyes meet, Azazel sees into his soul, sees a life of hunger and hard work, a life of self-denial so that others—wife, children, friends, family—could have more. And he knows exactly what he needs to offer._

_“I can promise you that your children will live long and live well, that your tribe will grow and flourish until it is the strongest of this land,” Azazel says._

_Hope shines in the old man’s soul, and for the first time, Azazel thinks he understands what Alastair means when he claims to find human souls beautiful. They may be lesser, but it is true—a human soul filled with hope_ is _deliciously beautiful. He cannot wait to snuff that blinding light._

_The old man accepts, and though he has not the strength to speak the words, an understanding has been reached. When the last breath passes between the old man’s lips, his soul gravitates toward Azazel. A reaper appears, but he sees Azazel guarding the old man’s soul and departs without a word._

_“Do not forget your promise,” the old man says._

_So Azazel brings the old man with him, unseen, as he strolls through the small plot of fields upon which his tribe lives. He touches a hand to the earth, and crops sprout. He reaches a hand to the sky, and clouds form. Azazel turns to the old man as the first drops of rain hit the ground and sees that his cheeks are stained with tears._

_“These fields will be plentiful for centuries to come. Your tribesmen will never go hungry while they live here,” Azazel pronounces._

_“Thank you,” the man murmurs with a grateful smile. “I will go with you now.”_

_Thus Azazel brings his first soul back to Father’s realm with him._

_Pleased, Father immediately places the soul onto the rack with the other waiting souls and asks that Azazel take Lilith with him and make her useful on Earth, since she is clearly not meant for work on the rack. Besides, in the time that Azazel was gone, Meg has become well-trained enough under Alastair’s tutelage that she is creating demons effectively, and Father does not want to waste any more souls to Lilith’s blade._

_So Azazel takes Lilith back to Earth with him, and they make some more deals with humans on the cusp of death. But this is a very limited pool of humans, so they expand their pool to adults, setting time limits for them to live out their lives before Azazel and Lilith return to claim their souls._

_In a remarkably short period of time on Earth—but a much longer time period in their home, which they have now started calling Hell—a system of demon creation rises up._

_More levelheaded demons begin to accompany Azazel and Lilith on their forays to make deals. These demons are not strong enough to carry out wishes in the way that Azazel and Lilith are, but Father finds a way around this: using a deal, a demon can access the power of the human soul to which it has laid claim in order to carry out its wish._

_The numbers in Hell begin to swell, and Azazel feels hopeful that they will prevail in the looming fight against Heaven._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_Lucifer has created a new realm of his own—it takes surprisingly long for Michael to realize that and send one of his angels to investigate, but it does eventually happen._

_It takes Raguel five days on Earth to locate Lilith, but he finally does find her and manages to follow her back to Lucifer’s realm without being noticed._

_Once there, he feels a moment of fear—raw, unabated fear, something that he has not felt in all his millennia of existence. Here, in this separate plane that Lucifer has created, hundreds of blackened creatures roam, twisted and debased, filthy and_ wrong _._

_Fear transforms into horror when Raguel realizes that this…_ this _is where all of Heaven’s missing souls have gone. They have somehow been stolen by Lucifer, molded into these—these horrible parodies of what they used to be, coal-black and utterly despicable. He doesn’t dare linger long, fearful of what might happen to him should Lucifer discover his presence, but he needs to know how many of them there are, that he may provide a full report to Michael._

_When he returns, he speaks to Michael alone._

_“We cannot stop him from taking those souls if they are going of their own free will,” Michael says, anger and regret coloring his tone. “But there must be an end to this. It appears the time has come for me to raise my blade to my own brother.”_

_Raguel has been close to Michael ever since his creation, and never before has he seen the archangel so unhappy, so unsure. He wishes he could provide an alternate path, but he has neither the foresight nor the authority to do so. “Yes,” he agrees sadly, “that appears to be the only way.”_

_There is only a moment more of weakness before Michael stiffens, hardens in a way that Raguel hasn’t seen before. Then he is barking orders, commanding the angels to start constructing a cage and preparing a spell that will be able to close off Lucifer’s realm so that his mutated human souls will not be able to hurt or convert more people._

_The question that disturbs them all is finally asked by Azrael, a few days after construction of a cage has begun—“How will we prevail when we are so outnumbered?”_

_Michael receives revelation from Father and answers them the next day: they are to procreate, as humans do, in order to fight the growing demon horde. It can be achieved by a delicate joining of Grace, from which a new angel will be formed. Each pair of partners will decide amongst themselves which of the two will bear the young—this will be a painful process, because it will feel to the parent like a piece of his Grace is being torn away._

_To Raguel and most of the other angels, this is unthinkable—not because of the pain, but because of the intimacy. Angels are not by nature tactile beings, and to come near one another, to share Grace, is a prospect that is as terrifying as it is alien._

_But Michael reassures them that it is indeed necessary, that God has commanded it, and so they do what they must: they obey._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

This time, Ruby hears the faint sound of wings flapping before Castiel lands in the passenger seat.

“Hello, Ruby.”

She sighs. “What do you want?”

“You don’t seem very happy to see me.”

“Yeah, you’re very bright. Now let’s get this over with,” Ruby says, keeping her eyes fixed on the road. But Cas doesn’t say anything, and when Ruby looks over, he’s absentmindedly examining the fingernails on his left hand. Ruby clears her throat and says, “I know you’re not here for pleasure, Cas. What do you want?”

“Why are you so sure that I’m here to ask something of you? Maybe I’m here to give you something.”

“Right, like that’s something you would do.”

“I gave you something last time,” Cas points out.

“Okay, fine. Are you here to give me something?” Ruby asks, irritated.

“A piece of information,” Cas answers. After a pause, he says, “There is a girl named Anna Milton. She recently escaped from a mental ward—it’s called Connor Beverly Behavioral Medicine Center, and it’s in a town near Columbus, Ohio. Orders have come down saying that she must be captured alive.”

“Alive?” Ruby says, eyebrows raised. It’s not often that Lilith wants humans taken alive.

“Yes,” Cas confirms.

Ruby narrows her eyes at Cas. “Why should I trust you?” she asks.

“Have I ever lied to you before?”

“…No, but—”

“And the hex bag has worked, hasn’t it?” Cas presses.

And damn it, it _has_ worked. Ruby memorized the ingredients and burned the old one, deigning to travel without it for a time. The day after, Meg had caught up with her. But thankfully, Meg had been alone, and Ruby had been able to slip away—not unhurt, but very much alive. She’d immediately put together another hex bag, and it hasn’t left the inner pocket of her leather jacket since.

“Yeah, but—then how did _you_ find me?” she asks.

Cas chuckles. “And they say that you’re smart. Ever heard of a tracking device? I planted one on your car when I gave you that hex bag.”

“Right. And you want me to trust you.”

“Well, yeah. I’ve been able to follow your location for all this time, and I haven’t sold you out,” Cas points out. “Besides, I needed a way to find you, to collect on that favor.”

“Fine,” Ruby says, sighing. “What’s so special about this girl?”

“I’m not sure. But you know what you have to do.”

Ruby nods. “Yes, of course. I’m not an idiot.”

If the girl really is important, it means the Winchesters will have to be involved. Ruby knows she at least has Sam’s gratitude, that if push comes to shove, he will do everything in his power to stop Dean from hurting her. And while that could be enough, Ruby’s job will be a hell of a lot easier if she can get Dean to trust her. Then there’s the fact that Ruby’s supposed to be working to thwart Lilith. She needs to be seen helping the Winchesters as much as she can by the other demons, if this is to work.

“Could you give me a bit of a boost?” she asks. “To reach the boys, I mean. If the demons are already after her, they’ll have an advantage over Sam and Dean.”

Castiel frowns. “I’m not supposed to do that,” he says.

“Since when have you ever cared about what you were or weren’t supposed to do?” Ruby responds, and Cas nods to concede her point.

“I’ll take you close, then,” Cas decides.

“Great.”

Cas places both hands on the dash, and there’s a disconcerting _shift_ in the air, and then Ruby’s driving on a different road, much more brightly lit—she’s in the middle of a town.

“Before you go,” she says, “have you seen Meg at all recently?”

Cas smiles. “No. Though I have heard that she almost caught you, but you managed to elude her.”

“Barely,” Ruby replies, catching sight of a familiar black car parked in front of a bar.

“Was that all?” Cas asks.

“Yeah. No.”

Cas frowns at her as she makes a U-turn to go back to the bar. “Yes or no?” he asks. “Believe it or not, I do have more important things to be doing than babysitting your demonic ass.”

Ruby huffs a laugh. “Right, yeah. Babysitting. That’s _exactly_ what you’re doing,” she says.

“Get on with it,” Cas says.

Ruby grits her teeth and says, “Thank you.”

Cas doesn’t respond, and when Ruby pulls into a parking space and looks to the side, she sees that he’s grinning.

“I already wish I hadn’t said anything,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It won’t happen again, so enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Good luck,” is all Cas says before vanishing.

Ruby rolls her eyes again at the vacant space he left behind, just in case he’s still hanging around—she knows he’s able to pull an invisibility trick. He’s startled her more than once doing that.

Then she gets out of the car and strides toward the building. Once inside, it takes her only a few seconds to locate Sam’s tall figure. He’s hunched over a pool table, so Ruby walks over to the bar to wait for him. Sure enough, he spots her and is at her side within two minutes.

“Hey,” Sam says.

Before Ruby can respond, Dean says, “Well, you got a lot of nerve showing up anywhere near me.”

And god, here they go again.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_The cage is completed over the course of a year—the proper enchantments and seals are set in place, and before declaring it finished, Michael locks himself inside to guarantee that Lucifer will not be able to break out._

_A year is nothing to Heaven, and in that year, they were also able to double the size of Host, something that Michael is pleased to hear. But it appears that far more than a year has passed in Lucifer’s new realm, and when Michael sends Raguel for another look inside, the place has already expanded enough that its entirety cannot be measured, not in the time that Raguel is willing to risk there._

_This isn’t even what worries Michael the most. When Raguel returns, he brings news that the lesser creatures, demons that were formed from humans, have learned to create more of themselves. Raguel didn’t even see the original fallen three, and Michael fears that Lucifer will have developed some other scheme to make his forces even more powerful._

_The fight is inevitable, so rather than wait for Lucifer to attack, Michael separates the armies of Heaven between himself, Gabriel, and Raphael, and together, they storm down into Lucifer’s realm._

_It is easy—almost too easy—to destroy the demons that Lucifer has created. Regular seraphs can burn the twisted souls with a touch, and Michael can lift one hand and flatten a thousand. But fighting these demons is like swinging a blade through water—as soon as the closest demons are killed, more fall in to take their place._

_And then the Light rises, and Michael sees his brother again for the first time in decades. He can sense Gabriel and Raphael approaching from either side, but he holds them off—_

_“This is between Lucifer and me. Hold your positions,” he demands, and they subside._

_Michael lifts one hand, palm out, and burns through the sea of demons, a line straight to his little brother. Lucifer is beautiful—twisted now, but still breathtaking—and Michael goes to him, the blade in his other hand forgotten until Lucifer raises his own._

_So the deep longing for an embrace is one-sided, the yearning for reconciliation unnecessary and unreturned. Michael wishes to feel anger, hatred, wishes to reflect the fury that Lucifer emanates with his fiery luster, but in this moment, all he feels—all he_ is _—is pain. As they clash, Michael drowns in sorrow, in bitterness, in agony._

_They dance in and out of the realm, flitting between dimensions and out into the stars, and if Michael ignores the sentiments coming from Lucifer, he can almost pretend that they’re playing, that they’re crossing blades as they used to when everything was right, when the humans had not yet existed._

_But the humans were created, and nothing is as it was. It may have been years since they last did this dance, but Michael still knows all the steps, and in the end, it is he who forces Lucifer to his knees._

_Michael lifts his arm, wishing to end this fight, but he looks down at his brother, looks down at the Morning Star, blazing defiant and bright as the sun, and he cannot bring down his blade._

_“The gates!” he cries, voice booming across the heavens, and Gabriel and Raphael are there, holding open the gates to the cage created solely for this purpose._

_Michael binds Lucifer’s powers—the bind will not hold forever, but it will certainly last long enough for the gates to be properly sealed—and throws him into the cage. Unwilling to allow for any mistakes, Michael completes each seal himself._

_Without their general, the armies of Lucifer’s realm scatter, and the battle is won. Michael returns to Heaven, leaving the angels with instructions to destroy whatever demons they encounter. But the main threat is neutralized, and Michael does not care enough to call for the purge of all demons from existence, so the angels return to Heaven soon after._

_Back in Heaven, Michael commends the armies for their bravery and sends them away to rest and meditate. He expects Anael, Azrael, and Raguel to report to him immediately, but only Azrael appears before him._

_“What is the matter?” he asks halfheartedly—he does not think he has the strength to deal with any more trouble today._

_“Raguel has recaptured Arariel,” Azrael reports. “He, Puriel, and Barachiel are restraining Arariel as we speak. As for Anael… he has gone missing. During the battle, we came upon Azazel and Lilith. But rather than meet us head-on, they went their separate ways. I, being the faster, chased Lilith. Anael pursued Azazel. I worry that something may have happened to him.”_

_Michael sighs heavily. “We may have won today, but our victory brings me no pleasure, and I find I’m too tired to conduct a search. Where is Gabriel?”_

_“He did not return to Heaven after the fight, either,” Azrael reports._

_It is not exactly uncommon for Gabriel to disappear for short stretches of time, and Michael supposes he should not be surprised that Gabriel chose to vanish after locking Lucifer away. If Michael himself could choose to leave all of his troubles to another and simply leave Heaven for a length of time, he cannot say that he would not do it._

_“Very well. Report the issue to Raphael and have him send a garrison of angels to search for any sign of Anael or Azazel,” Michael says._

_Azrael bows and departs, and, finally alone, Michael allows himself to mourn._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_The armies of Heaven rain down upon Hell with surprising speed and no mercy. Azazel holds his own easily against the younger angels, and not far off, he sees Lilith fighting off a small group of angels. The number of angels seems to have grown somehow. There must be at least twice the number of angels there was when Azazel fell, and he simply cannot see how—Michael has not the power of creation._

_But there is no time to contemplate what strategies Heaven may have employed to bolster their ranks—they’re under attack, and the archangels’ onslaughts are as terrifying to behold as always. Normal angels are not even close to as powerful as the archangels, but still the young demons fall too quickly to their attacks, and Azazel finds himself retreating._

_He notices when Father is drawn away by one of the archangels, one whom he quickly recognizes as Michael._

_Worry fills him for a brief moment as echoes of memory from another life flash through his mind, visions of two archangels flying toward each other on a field of pure, bright light. The duels between Michael and Lucifer were beautiful, demonstrations of skill and power that no others could hope to emulate. And this thought has him freezing up mid-battle, wondering when Lucifer became Father, when Lucifer became_ God _._

_But the moment passes, and the thoughts unravel, and Azazel loses himself in the chaotic struggle for survival._

_Mid-battle, Azazel sees Alastair fall, and it scares him. What will they do to him in Heaven?_

_Azazel fights his way in that direction, catches sight of Lilith doing the same. Perhaps together, they’ll be able to retake Alastair and subdue the angels holding him._

_But it quickly becomes apparent that their goal has been discovered, because the next thing Azazel notices is that Anael and Azrael are approaching. Meeting Lilith’s eyes over the distance, Azazel chooses to travel away from the battlefield. He glances back once to check on the others and finds that sure enough, Anael and Azrael have split up, with Azrael going after Lilith and Anael following Azazel. He puts on a burst of speed, hoping to throw off his pursuer, but Anael will not be shaken so easily, and Azazel starts strategizing—what will he do if he cannot outlast the angel?_

_As he flits across the Earth, he considers the possibility of capturing Anael alive. Father would like that very much, Azazel’s sure. But the difficulty lies in actually trapping the angel, and Azazel doesn’t know if he’ll be able to manage it without prior preparation._

_When Anael’s blade nearly clips his side, Azazel acknowledges that continuing to run will only hurt him now that Anael is close enough for contact.  So he stops abruptly and turns to face his former brother in combat—one-on-one like this, he stands a chance of winning, but if Michael has been training the soldiers of Heaven, that chance will be very slim._

_Azazel ducks as soon as he spins around, correctly anticipating Anael’s first blow. He follows it up with a swing of his own, but he has lost his old blade and has since realized that his current blade cannot kill angels—even what would normally be a kill strike would only severely injure an angel._

_But Azazel doesn’t want to kill Anael anyway, so perhaps this will work out to his advantage._

_He stays mostly on defense, hoping to tire out his opponent, but Anael catches on to his scheme too quickly and conserves his strength._

_“Brother, please,” Anael says, “return to Heaven with me. You will be given the chance to atone for your sins.”_

_“Who are you to judge my actions?” Azazel answers, leaping back as Anael lunges forward. “I’ll tell you,” he says in response to his own query. “You are a poor, misguided creature who worships a father who has long abandoned you.”_

_“Father has not abandoned us!” Anael barks, fury fueling his next few blows._

_Azazel retreats far enough to give himself time to respond—“My father opened my eyes to the truth. God is not in Heaven anymore—hasn’t been for a long time. He doesn’t love you.”_

_“Lies,” Anael hisses. “Lucifer has poisoned your mind with his lies. Come with me, and Michael will show you the error of your ways.”_

_At this, Azazel laughs coldly. “That’s exactly it, isn’t it? You believe because of Michael. You think your father remains in Heaven because Michael says it’s so.”_

_“My father is yours as well,” Anael says heatedly. “Or have you forgotten your own creation, Azazel?”_

_“I have not forgotten. But I was reborn, remade by a better god—”_

_Anael snarls and lunges again, and from the corner of his eye, Azazel notes Lilith’s presence. Anael is too angry, too focused on Azazel to take in the new arrival, and Azazel uses that to his advantage, shifting so that Anael’s back is to Lilith._

_“I saw Alastair fall,” Azazel says, talking mostly to hold Anael’s attention now. “What will you do to him in Heaven?”_

_“We will purify him, try to fix him,” Anael answers. “We will do the same for you, if you come with me.”_

_“I don’t think so,” Azazel says._

_Frustration flashes through the angel’s eyes, and then he springs into motion, almost too fast for Azazel’s eyes to track. Anael’s freezing cold blade presses to Azazel’s throat, so cold that the point of contact_ burns _, and Azazel cannot move, for fear of having his throat slit._

_“I have had enough of this game,” Anael says softly. “I hoped that you would come with me willingly, but it seems that that is impossible.”_

_But as Anael finishes speaking, he chokes on an exhale. The point of Lilith’s blade protrudes from his chest, and Azazel smiles slowly._

_“Yes,” he says as Anael’s eyelids flutter once, twice, “it does seem impossible.”_

_Anael’s blade clatters to the ground._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_Anael wakes to the sound of an argument, voices muffled and words indistinct. It takes him a moment to recover his senses and make sense of the sounds._

_“We don’t have the strength to change him. Or do you think we could possibly reach any point even_ close _to Father’s might?”_

_That sounds like Azazel._

_“What else do you suggest we do with him? What other choice do we have?”_

_Lilith, Anael realizes. She must have been the one who struck him. Anael can feel himself healing—sluggishly, but healing nonetheless. His Grace cannot be completely tamped down, no matter what these two decide to try._

_“You could release me,” Anael says. “Release me, and Michael will be merciful.”_

_Lilith enters Anael’s field of vision, smiling nastily. “You think the mighty archangel himself would descend from Heaven just to save_ your _sorry hide? Why, for one of his closest followers, you don’t seem to know him very well at all.”_

_“Even if he does not come to retrieve me himself, he will send Azrael and Raguel. You have little to gain by keeping me,” Anael says. He is certain that even if Michael does not give an explicit order to come for him, Azrael and Raguel will notice his absence and request to leave Heaven to find him. “You cannot keep me here indefinitely,” he adds._

_“It’s true,” Azazel murmurs._

_“You don’t think my binding sigils will work?” Lilith says._

_“I trust your knowledge, but the sigils will fade over time. Anael will heal. This is not a permanent solution, not by any means.”_

_“Sigils can be redrawn. Wounds can be reopened,” Lilith says._

_“We still cannot transform him,” Azazel points out, and Anael gathers from this that Lucifer has been trapped, that Heaven has prevailed. “What will we do with a captive angel for eternity?”_

_Lilith says nothing for a long while, and Anael takes the time to look at his surroundings._

_They appear to be back in Lucifer’s realm, where time seems to pass faster. Anael is strapped to a rack, a few crudely-approximated sigils forcing his wings to remain manifested. These appendages are held in place as well, spread wide in a mocking imitation of flight. He knows several Enochian words for permanence, words that would make the sigils stay indefinitely, and he is certain that Lilith and Azazel should have known them as angels._

_But it appears that whatever transformation Lucifer put them through has made them forget even simple Enochian. Anael feels thankful for this and silently prays that the sigils will fade soon enough that he’ll be able to heal himself and break free of these bonds—at full power, these bonds would be child’s play to escape._

_“The angel is awake,” Anael hears from somewhere behind him. This voice is new, smaller, female and unfamiliar._

_“Yes, he is,” Azazel acknowledges. “Have you found other survivors?”_

_“Not many. I gathered them away from the angel, as you instructed.”_

_“Good,” Azazel says._

_“Do you… do you know where Alastair might be?” the newcomer—a demon, Anael presumes—asks._

_“Taken by the angels,” Lilith replies bluntly. “He could be dead already, for all we know. Leave us.”_

_There’s a brief moment of absolute silence—apparently this demon is capable of moving quietly enough that even Anael cannot hear her. Then again, it could simply be because his Grace is too restricted to pick up subtle sounds._

_Lilith looks closely at Anael. “Now, we need to decide what to do with you.”_

_“Release me,” Anael says._

_“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Lilith says._

_“You cannot do anything to me,” Anael says. “You admitted it yourself—you are not strong enough to transform me into your kind.”_

_“Perhaps not,” Lilith concedes. “But that does not mean there is nothing we can do to you.”_

_Anael does his best to hide his apprehension and says, “Why are you doing this? Lucifer is gone already—you cannot hope to gain his praise by tormenting me.”_

_“We don’t want praise. We want revenge,” Lilith says._

_“Lilith, we—” Azazel begins._

_But Lilith sends an angry look in her companion’s direction, and he falls silent. It is clear who is in control between the two. “Azazel,” Lilith says eventually, “what did you notice about the angels when they descended from Heaven?”_

_“They were more powerful than before.”_

_“Yes, due to practice. What else?”_

_After a pause, Azazel answers, “There were more.”_

_A sinister grin stretches Lilith’s lips. “Precisely.”_

_Suddenly the fallen angel’s intention becomes clear, and Anael feels sick._

_“I see,” Azazel says._

_“Your Graces are too far gone,” Anael tries. “It would not work.”_

_“That may be true, but it won’t stop us from defiling you,” Lilith says._

_She steps forward and traces over the binding sigils, strengthening them anew, and a wave of nausea washes over Anael, blurring his mind. But Lilith quickly adds a word for clarity, and Anael becomes aware of suffocating, sulfuric darkness blanketing him on all sides. He does his best to shy away, but Lilith has made it so that he cannot move at all. So he reaches out with his mind, as far as he can manage, but it isn’t much. He’s still weak from his wounds, kept from healing._

_And then the smothering darkness is not only around him but_ within _him. He feels a dull ache, feels something inside him break apart. There’s no way he can affect any being’s mental state other than the demon already inside him, so he draws back within himself and turns his energy on entering the intruder’s mind._

_It’s Azazel, Anael realizes with some surprise—he had expected Lilith to carry out this threat personally. As the pain intensifies, Anael pulls himself together and focuses on the pain to gather his concentration. He may not be able to break free of the sigils binding him here, but perhaps he will be able to push Azazel out of him, away from him._

_But just as he succeeds in forcing Azazel’s mind to recoil slightly, sharp pain lances through him. Lilith’s blade is buried in his side, the black smoke that is Azazel having parted like water around the sudden intrusion._

_Further weakened, Anael capitulates, giving up the physical struggle in favor of praying to his brothers, to Michael, to Father._

_It quickly becomes clear that Azazel is the only one who can hear him, though, and Anael falls unconscious, snuffed out like a dying flame._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

It’s too much. It’s not possible. This girl, Anna, apparently started hearing angel voices right when Dean was pulled out of Hell—how many more coincidences can there possibly be? He looks over at Sam. “What do you think?”

“It’s above my pay grade, man,” Sam answers.

“Well, at least we know why the demons want you so bad,” Dean says with a small smile, turning back to Anna. They get a hold of you, they can hear everything the other side’s cooking. You’re 1-900-angel.” He laughs lightly, hoping to put Anna at ease, and she smiles back.

“Hey, um,” she says suddenly, “do you know—are my parents okay? I—I didn’t go home. I was afraid.”

Before Sam or Dean can break the bad news, Ruby bursts into the attic.

“You got the girl. Good, let’s go.”

“Oh—her face!” Anna cries out, backing away.

“It’s okay. She’s here to help,” Sam reassures her.

“Yeah, don’t be so sure,” Dean says.

“We have to hurry,” Ruby insists.

“Why?”

“Because a demon’s coming—big-timer. We can fight later, Dean.”

“Well, that’s pretty convenient—showing up right when we find the girl with some bigwig on your tail?” Dean says.

“I didn’t bring him here. _You_ did,” Ruby says, sounding annoyed.

“What?”

“He followed you from the girl’s house. We gotta go _now_.”

“Dean,” Sam says urgently.

Dean looks over and sees Sam pointing to a statue. Its eyes are bleeding. That is some _creepy_ —

“It’s too late,” Ruby says. “He’s here.”

Sam grabs Anna by the arm and leads her farther into the attic, and Dean steps closer to the statue, unable to take his eyes off it even as he draws the demon knife. The statue is white, head bowed in prayer, but two streams of blood run down its cheeks, bright red and completely out of place, something Dean’s never seen before.

“Okay. Stay in there—don’t move,” Dean hears Sam say to Anna.

Sam returns to Dean and Ruby, taking out a flask of holy water as he does so.

“No—Sam, you gotta pull him right away,” Ruby says.

“Whoa, hold on a sec,” Dean protests.

“Now’s not the time to bellyache about Sam going dark side. He does his thing, he exorcises that demon, or we die,” Ruby says firmly.

To Dean’s consternation, Sam puts the flask away and turns to face the door. There’s only about a second before the door bursts open, revealing a man in a suit. The demon steps into the room, and Dean watches as his brother lifts his hand, forcing the demon’s eyes to turn white.

But the demon only coughs. “That tickles. You don’t have the juice to take me on, Sam,” he says snidely.

The demon lifts a hand and makes a pulling gesture, tossing Sam back down the stairs. Dean surges forward, brandishing Ruby’s knife, but the demon grabs his knife-wielding arm in one hand and fists his free hand in the front of Dean’s shirt.

“Hello again, Dean,” the demon says—and Dean widens his eyes in surprise because these words imply that they’ve met before—before shoving Dean’s back against a pillar.

Distantly, Dean hears Anna scream and fuck it all, he hopes it’s Ruby who’s gotten to Anna—better that bitch than one of this demon’s cronies. But he doesn’t have much time to dwell on this—the demon knocks the knife out of Dean’s hand the next time Dean tries to stab him, and then he blocks Dean’s next few jabs, returning a few of his own.

“Don’t you recognize me?” the demon asks, gesturing toward his face. “Oh, I forgot—I’m wearing a pediatrician.” Before Dean has time to recover, the demon punches Dean in the face twice more. “But we were so close… in Hell.” Another punch. He leans in close, and Dean suddenly flashes back to blood and heat and pain and red, red, _red_ —

“Alastair,” Dean says, and the demon’s smile widens.

He punches Dean one more time before turning away—Sam’s managed to sneak up on him and sinks Ruby’s knife into the demon’s chest. Pain flickers on Alastair’s face, but he clenches his jaw through it, and then flashes a leer in Dean’s face.

To Dean’s horror, all Alastair says is, “You’re gonna have to try a whole lot harder than that, son,” before shoving Sam out of his way and tugging the knife out of his chest, easy as anything.

Dean spares a moment to glance in Sam’s direction—Sam looks just as shocked as Dean is—before turning his attention back to the rapidly approaching demon.

And then Alastair is forcefully jerked backwards, flailing in surprise. Dean catches a glimpse of Cas’s face before the angel has turned around, putting his back to Sam and Dean.

“Castiel. Finally,” Alastair snarls, and the look on his face spells out fury, loathing.

“You will not touch the Winchesters,” Castiel says, voice thunderous.

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?” Alastair says, hefting the knife in his grasp. The confidence in his tone is not reassuring, but Dean remembers Alastair, remembers that he was a master of mind tricks just as much as he was an expert in inflicting pain.

Castiel abruptly raises one hand and barks out a few words in a language that Dean cannot understand.

“No!” Alastair cries as he’s flung backwards against the wall by the stairs.

“Let’s go!” Dean says, shoving at his brother to get him moving toward the exit. But in the blink of an eye, Castiel is standing right in front of him, blocking his path. He feels the touch of two dry fingertips against his forehead, and then—

—he’s back in the motel room, and Dean is prepared to be _really_ fucking pissed off until he turns around and sees Sam appear, followed by Ruby and Anna.

“Where the hell is Cas?” Dean blurts out, spinning around when the angel is nowhere to be seen.

“How do you know Cas?” Ruby asks sharply, and Dean glares at her.

“How do _you_ know Cas?” he demands.

“Shut up, guys. Shut up,” Sam says, gesturing toward Anna. She’s staring into space, eyes wide with something that looks a hell of a lot like fear.

“We gotta get outta here,” Ruby says, nodding. “Cas bought us some time, but it can’t be much. C’mon— _hurry_ ,” she urges when no one moves.

Snapping out of his stupor, Dean grabs Anna’s arm and leads her outside, followed closely by Sam and Ruby. One look at the small motel parking lot makes it apparent that the Impala is absent.

“Aw, that son of a bitch couldn’t bring the car along, too?” Dean gripes.

“I think he was a bit more preoccupied with saving our asses,” Sam points out, and Dean knows he’s right, but still—that’s his _baby_ parked out there, at the mercy of who-knows-how-many demons.

It only takes them a few minutes to hotwire a car, and then they’re getting the hell outta dodge. Anna’s up front with Dean because she’s still a little afraid of Ruby, leaving Sam and Ruby to sit together in the back. Dean glances at Ruby in the rearview mirror, but she’s keeping an attentive eye on the surrounding cars—to make sure no demons are tailing them, she claimed—and Dean tells himself yet again that she’s a demon, that she can’t be trusted.

But no matter what Dean thinks, everything she’s said and done so far has only been helpful to them, and it’s hard to argue against that. Dean’s positive that she has some sort of ulterior motive, but he’s got no proof, and it’s getting harder and harder to stay opposed to her.

“Turn left up ahead,” Ruby says.

“Why?” Dean says.

“Does your brother _have_ to be so difficult _all_ the time?”

“Ruby—” Sam starts.

“If you don’t tell me why, I’m not turning,” Dean says as a small access road appears down the lane.

“It’ll take us to a safe hiding place, okay?” Ruby snaps. “Now turn!”

Dean makes a hard left onto the dirt road, and when he looks up at the rearview mirror, Ruby is glaring at him. He focuses on the road, weaving between trees. It’s a bumpy ride, and Dean’s suddenly grateful that he’s not driving the Impala—he cringes at the mere thought of Baby’s paintjob getting all scratched up by these branches.

After a few minutes of tense silence in the car, Dean pulls up in front of a small cabin.

“They won’t think to look for us here,” Ruby says, opening the door and getting out.

“Hey—” Dean starts to protest, but Sam is already climbing out of the car, and Dean grumbles under his breath for a moment before gesturing for Anna to get out as well. He cuts the engine and follows the others toward the house, pausing to draw his gun just in case.

Ruby enters the house first, followed by Sam. Dean stays close to Anna as they walk inside—he wants to be prepared, just in case Ruby has led them into a trap. But the cabin is empty, and Dean puts his gun away.

“All right, so now what?” he says.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Transporting four adult human beings—one demon, technically, but she’s still human-sized—takes a lot out of Castiel, and he loses his grip on Alastair as a result. The demon charges at him, blade drawn, and Castiel parries with his own sword. But he’s too drained to take Alastair head-on, and the demon ends up pinning him to the wall right next to the stained glass window.

“So, Castiel, what’ll it be? You let my favorite chew toy go. You willing to come back and take his place?”

“Not in this life,” Castiel snarls, shoving at Alastair’s chest.

The demon doesn’t go far, but he goes just far _enough_ —Castiel extends his wings and takes off, certain that Alastair will give chase. The longer Alastair chases Castiel, the longer the Winchesters have to get someplace safe. He really, _really_ hopes that Ruby is finally making use of the damn hex bag he gave her.

Castiel leads Alastair through the United States, thinking about where he can possibly go. Perhaps there is some sort of a trap he could lead Alastair into—the longer it’d hold him, the better.

But Castiel hadn’t thought this through ahead of time, really. He’d thought the boys would pick up the girl and go, but they’d insisted on _talking_ , the idiots. He’s glad Ruby stormed in when she did, but if she’d been a few minutes earlier, Castiel wouldn’t be running from Alastair, and he can’t help but blame her a little bit.

Distracted, Castiel nearly rushes headlong into the grasp of that mystery creature, the one whose target is apparently Castiel himself, and he has to make a sharp turn upwards into the stratosphere.

The creature—Castiel catches a glimpse of the thing and notes that it, or rather, _she_ is a pagan goddess, but he doesn’t recognize her—clips Castiel’s wing as he passes. The rapid ascension is decidedly unpleasant, especially with a wounded wing, but it has the excellent side-effect of putting Alastair level with the creature that’s chasing Castiel because Alastair is distracted by the Castiel’s new pursuer, and the pagan goddess drops away when she realizes she has competition.

Castiel takes advantage of the split second of distraction by straining his wings despite the pain and hurling himself into another dimension, putting a world of distance between himself and Alastair. Even damaged, his wings allow him an undeniable advantage in crossing between realms of existence.

He touches down on a small island in the tropics and tries to focus on Sam’s soul—Dean’s ribs are marked to hide him, and Ruby carries Castiel’s hex bag with her, but Sam should still be free for Castiel to locate. If nothing else, he recognizes Anna Milton’s soul now and will be able to find the Winchesters through her, as long as she isn’t taken from them.

Reassured that he’ll be able to find the four on short notice, Castiel takes a moment to recuperate.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_Theoretically, it should be laughably easy for one angel to find another angel. Graces call out to one another. So when there is no sign of Anael for days on end, Azrael grows worried. He asks Raguel to accompany him on the search, but even together, they do not find their brother._

_“We need more eyes,” Azrael eventually tells Raguel. “He’s not dead.”_

_“I know,” Raguel says. “I still feel him, too.”_

_“We must speak to Raphael again,” Azrael says. “None of our brothers will leave Heaven without his permission.”_

_Ordinarily they would go to Michael, but their eldest brother has asked that no one speak to him unless the situation is dire—all issues are to be brought to Raphael instead. The first time they spoke to Raphael, he denied their request, saying that most of the angels were recovering from the fight against Lucifer’s demons. But it’s become clear to Azrael that they need help to find Anael._

_So Azrael and Raguel fly through Heaven, searching for Raphael. They find him quickly, in the realm of an old chieftain. It appears some sort of tribunal is taking place._

_Raphael is seated in the audience, so Azrael and Raguel make their way through the imagined tribe members and sit down on either side of their elder brother._

_“This is my favorite part,” Raphael says as they join him. “Herod is about to be sentenced.”_

_Azrael looks over at Raguel and sees that his brother is just as unimpressed as he is. But Raphael is their elder, so they wait respectfully for the sentence to be decided, even though it is clear that Raphael has participated in this memory far more than once._

_When Herod is taken away to be hacked to pieces by his people, Raphael says, without preamble, “Still no sign of Anael, I presume.”_

_“Yes,” Azrael replies. “We cannot find him anywhere.”_

_“But he is still alive,” Raphael says, frowning. With a wave of his hand, the apparitions around them vanish, and the chieftain begins spinning a new memory._

_“We need more angels to search for Anael,” Raguel says._

_“If there is one angel we must find, Gabriel should be the priority,” Raphael answers._

_“What—has Gabriel vanished as well?” Azrael asks, startled._

_“Yes,” Raphael says tiredly. “It will be near impossible to find him—he left on his own and does not want to be found.”_

_Azrael feels himself trembling minutely as this information. Two of their eldest brothers are gone, and Michael does not wish to see anyone. Their family is falling apart, and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it._

_“You cannot find him, then?” Raguel asks Raphael softly._

_“He does not want to be found,” Raphael reiterates, almost mechanically, and Azrael holds a hand out in Raguel’s direction in case he continues to press. But Raguel stays mercifully silent, and after some time, Raphael says, “You may choose whichever angels you like to help you. Search for Gabriel well, but I do not hold much hope for his discovery.”_

_“Thank you, brother,” Azrael says, gratitude reverberating throughout his being._

_Raphael does not acknowledge his words, turning instead toward a new scene._

_“Come,” Raguel says to Azrael. “We must find our brother.”_

_They depart and split up to gather angels, agreeing to meet in an empty realm. But not five minutes later, they return to the same place, each with only two angels in tow—clear as a bell, Anael’s voice rings through their heads in a plea for help, for deliverance, for anyone to hear him._

_Azrael and Raguel lead their small group of four angels—Hester, Camael, Gadreel, and Cassiel—down from Heaven, following Anael’s cries to the source._

_They pierce the barrier between Earth and Hell with some difficulty—it was freshly erected along with Lucifer’s cage, and the wards are fresh and strong. Passage through the barrier weakens it, but Azrael knows he could never leave his brother in Hell, not when he has the power to bring him back._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Sam is spray painting the ground just inside the doorway of the cabin with a decent-sized devil’s trap—there’s no point in trying to hide it, and Ruby told them about a back door that she can use if need be.

“Who was that?” Anna asks. “The man who sent us here, I mean.”

Sam looks up from his work and sees her sitting on the low couch in the corner of the room, staying out of their way—Dean is lining the windows with salt, and Ruby’s drawing some symbols on the walls to keep them hidden from demons. Anna’s had some time to calm down since they told her about her parents, and though Sam knows that she’s not okay, she’s clearly trying to divert her mind to something else, something more manageable.

“His name is Cas,” Sam answers.

Anna opens her mouth to speak again, but Dean cuts her off by saying, “Speaking of Cas, _Ruby_ still hasn’t told us how she knows him.”

Sam finishes the last squiggle on the devil’s trap and stands. “That’s a good point,” he says, glancing over at the demon. “I thought you said that you didn’t know any angels.”

Before Ruby can answer, Anna says, “ _Angels?_ ”

The disbelief in her tone gives Sam pause, and he looks at Dean, deciding to let his brother answer this one. “Yeah, angels,” Dean says, moving toward Anna. “Cas is an angel.”

Anna shakes her head, but before she can elaborate, there’s a loud clap of thunder, and a look of terror crosses her face. “They’re coming,” she manages to get out in a tremulous voice.

“Back room,” Dean says.

Sam instantly crosses the room and grabs Anna’s arm, leading her through a door and into the back even as the roof begins to shake above them.

As he walks back into the main room and picks up a shotgun, he hears Ruby ask, “Where’s the knife?”

Dean turns back from the window in the front door to say, “Uh… about that…”

“You’re kidding,” Ruby says.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Dean says, and Sam glares at him.

“Thanks a lot.”

“Great. Just peachy. Impeccable timing, guys, really,” Ruby grumbles as the door begins to rattle.

Sam takes a deep breath—maybe he can’t exorcise Alastair, but he can still pull lower level demons. He just hopes it’ll be enough. They don’t have all that much holy water between them, and there’s only so much that’ll actually hurt a demon.

The door bursts open, letting in a strong gust of wind. Inias and Uriel march into the room, and Sam really isn’t sure whether he feels relieved or even more on edge—a quick glance at Ruby out of the corner of his eye reveals that her eyes have flipped to black in response to the angels’ presence.

“Please tell me you’re here to help. We’ve been having demon issues all day,” Dean says.

“Well, I can see that,” Uriel says disdainfully. “You want to explain why you have that _stain_ in the room?”

“We’re here for Anna,” Inias says.

“Here for her like… here for her?” Dean says, which—eloquent as always.

“Stop talking. Give her to us,” Uriel says impatiently.

“Are you gonna help her?” Sam asks.

“No. She has to die,” Inias responds bluntly, and Sam can barely stop himself from gaping.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_It takes Anael several days in Heaven to regain equilibrium and feel like himself again. The taint of Azazel lingers on him, and he hopes that it’ll fade with time._

_But time passes, and the taint remains, and Anael doesn’t know what to do._

_Then comes a day when Anael feels pain within himself, pain that is difficult to withstand and even more difficult to understand. It leaves as quickly as it came, but Anael quickly realizes what it must mean and calls for Azrael and Raguel._

_Azrael, ever the quickest, arrives first—“What’s the matter?”_

_Anael looks down for a moment. “Where is Raguel?”_

_“On his way, I’m sure. What is wrong, brother?”_

_“I would rather speak with you together,” Anael says._

_“We will wait for him, then,” Azrael decides._

_It takes a few minutes for Raguel to join them._

_“What kept you?” Azrael asks._

_“I was speaking with Arariel,” Raguel says._

_“You may as well call him Alastair now,” Azrael says. “He doesn’t answer to Arariel.”_

_“Giving in to his name will be admitting that we have lost. We can still fix him,” Raguel says._

_“We won’t fix him,” Azrael replies. “I’ve looked into his eyes, into Lilith’s eyes—there is no coming back for our lost brothers.”_

_Raguel is silent then, but Anael knows that he still believes there is hope. It is unkind of Azrael to disregard Raguel’s beliefs so. However, Anael himself believes there can be no return for them—how can there be, when they chose to violate him so?_

_Then Raguel asks, “Why have you called us here, brother?”_

_Anael sighs and spreads his wings wide. “Have you noticed anything amiss?”_

_Azrael starts to speak, pauses, and then says, “Azazel—you still carry a hint of Azazel with you.”_

_“That should have faded by now, surely,” Raguel says, frowning._

_“I carry not only a hint of Azazel on me,” Anael says gravely. “I carry his child.”_

_Both of his brothers look shocked by the news._

_“But—even with his Grace so damaged…” Azrael begins._

_“I’d thought it impossible,” Raguel says._

_“Yes, I’d thought so, too. But it is the truth. I know it,” Anael says. He hasn’t procreated before—Michael wished to keep his three best warriors at top form, so they were saved from the burden of childbearing—but he knows the signs._

_“Does anyone else know?” Azrael asks._

_“Of course not. Do you really think I could have told anyone before the two of you?” Anael responds._

_His brothers are silent for a moment, and Anael takes the time to consider his options. There are only two obvious choices regarding the fledgling forming within his Grace—to kill or to keep. But how can these even be considered choices? How can Anael be expected to decide such a thing? This is unprecedented. A true monster could be forming within him even now, and if he chooses to keep it, he would unleash it upon the world._

_And yet… he cannot imagine destroying it. After all, a fledgling is formed from the Grace of its bearer, so Anael would be destroying a part of himself in the process._

_“I wish I could say that this was your choice, but… it isn’t,” Raguel says._

_“It_ is _ultimately his choice,” Azrael argues._

_“No,” Raguel says quietly, “it isn’t. Anael, you must understand.”_

_Anael nods—he knows that Raguel is always fair, always must do what is just. And in this case, as no one knows what is growing inside Anael, the decision must be left up to the Host as a whole._

_“You’re all right with this,” Azrael says, frowning._

_“Yes,” Anael answers. “It is the right thing to do.”_

_“We should go to Michael, then,” Azrael says._

_“No, we shouldn’t,” Raguel counters. “This situation cannot be considered dire. We will take this information to Raphael, and if he wishes to speak to Michael, then we will go to him.”_

_Azrael opens his mouth to protest, but Anael holds one hand up. “It is fine, brother. Thank you for your concern,” Anael says. “We will do as Raguel suggests.”_

_“But—”_

_“I would not know what to do anyway. It’ll be a relief to have this responsibility taken from me,” Anael says. Azrael still looks doubtful, but he silences his protests and follows when they leave for Raphael’s favorite realm._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Sam asks the exact questions that are running through Dean’s head—“You want Anna? Why?”

“Out of the way,” Uriel says, stepping forward.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean says quickly, making sure to stay between Uriel and the path to the back of the room. “Okay, I know she’s wiretapping your angel chats or whatever, but it’s no reason to gank her.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll kill her gentle.”

And Dean’s so fucking done with this guy—where the hell is Cas and were Inias and Uriel sent by him, like last time? But he doesn’t voice these questions, saying instead, “You’re some heartless sons of bitches, you know that?”

“As a matter of fact, we are,” Inias says. “And?”

“And?” Sam says, incredulous. “Anna’s an innocent girl.”

“She is far from innocent,” Inias says, shaking his head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam asks.

“It means she’s worse than this filth you’ve been screwing. Now give us the girl,” Uriel responds.

Dean exchanges glances with Sam before saying, “Sorry. Get yourself another one—try JDate.”

“Who’s gonna stop us? You two? Or this demon whore?”

As Uriel finishes speaking, he grabs Ruby and spins, throwing her against the wall by the door and breaking the stalemate in the room. He wraps his hand around her neck, and Dean lunges at him. But hell, he knows that he had zero chances of winning any sort of a fight against Cas back in that barn, and the odds aren’t any better for him coming out on top of a fight against Uriel now.

Dean gets a hard punch in the face and staggers back.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” Uriel says, and he looks way too happy to be hurting Dean, for someone who’s supposed to be an angel.

Uriel lifts his fist again, but before he can land another blow, Dean is tugged backwards sharply. He loses balance and lands on his ass, but he hardly even registers the pain—Sam is lying prone on the ground from whatever Inias did to him, and Dean suffers a moment of terror that Sam might be dead, that these fuckers might have actually killed him. _The boy with the demon blood_ , he remembers Cas saying.

But Ruby has moved to kneel over Sam, disregarding how close that puts her to Inias’s feet, and Dean doesn’t look away until she verifies that Sam’s still breathing and gives Dean a thumbs-up.

Dean gets to his feet and sees the back of a familiar black, leather jacket—Cas is here, positioned in front of Dean in what is definitely a defensive stance, which is confusing because aren’t these guys supposed to be working for—or at least _with_ —Cas? Dean’s confusion only deepens at the surprised, appalled look on Uriel’s face.

“ _Abomination_ ,” Uriel hisses.

And Dean _has_ to ask—“Isn’t he one of your brothers?”

“He’s a _demon_ ,” Uriel gets out through gritted teeth.

Dean feels the breath whoosh out of his lungs alarmingly at this. Fuck, he needs a minute. There’s just no way. Ruby’s knife didn’t kill Castiel, didn’t even make him flinch. Even _Alastair_ felt it when Sam stabbed him with that knife, and Alastair’s one of the head honchos down there.

“Don’t listen to him, Dean,” Cas says without looking back at Dean. “Uriel is lying—isn’t that right, Inias?”

Dean looks over to the third angel in the room, who’s hasn’t really said much at all except that Anna is apparently “far from innocent.”

“Remember our orders,” Uriel says, glaring at his partner.

“You do realize that trying to manipulate him doesn’t make you look any better,” Cas says.

“Uriel is lying,” Inias says, and in a less tense situation, Dean would probably laugh at the look of outrage on Uriel’s face. Inias continues, “but Castiel has not told you the entire truth either.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asks.

Cas charges toward Inias just as the angel barks a few words in a language that Dean has no hope of understanding. Cas stills and, shuddering with effort to remain standing, drops to one knee.

“Cas,” Dean says uselessly—Inias is stepping forward now, fingers running through Cas’s windswept hair, and Dean feels a strange flash of jealousy. He immediately shakes it, files it away for later—now’s not the time or place to be examining weird thoughts.

Then Inias is taking Cas by the shoulder and forcing him around to face Dean, and Dean watches the way Cas strains against his grip, lips moving mutely.

“What the hell are you doing to him?” Dean demands. He’s itching to draw his gun, to make himself feel more in control, but he already knows guns don’t do shit against angels. How can a mortal fight the Host of Heaven?

“I am going to show you the truth,” Inias says calmly, and Uriel looks way too friggin’ pleased with this turn of events for it to be anything good. Inias says a few words, and Cas jerks, head bowing. But Inias fists his hand in Cas’s hair and tugs his head up, and—

“Fuck,” Dean breathes, taking an involuntary step back—Castiel’s eyes are the same milky white as Lilith’s and Alastair’s.

“Dean,” Cas grits out, eyes returning to their original brilliant blue, except right now they’re wild and desperate, and Inias looks down at him, astonished. “Please—I’m not—a demon—”

But Inias murmurs something rapidly, and Castiel’s voice goes out again.

“Hey, he was trying to talk,” Dean protests.

“He was trying to lie to you, as he has done ever since you met him,” Inias says.

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” Dean says. “I know he’s not—he _can’t_ be a demon. I used the knife on him, and he didn’t die.”

In Dean’s peripheral vision, he sees Ruby’s head swivel to look in Castiel’s direction, surprised, and man, he _really_ needs to get the story of how they know each other out of her—it _can’t_ be because Cas is a demon. It just can’t.

“Not all demons are susceptible to that pig sticker of hers,” Uriel says.

“He’s not quite a demon,” Inias says.

“Semantics,” Uriel says dismissively. “He needs to die, just as much as the girl does.”

“No, there isn’t gonna be any dying. Not today,” Dean says firmly before looking at Inias. “So if Uriel and Cas are both lying, you tell me what I’m supposed to believe.”

“I cannot simply—” Inias begins, but suddenly he begins to glow. “ _No—_ ” he gets out, and then a blindingly white light permeates the room, and Dean shuts his eyes against it a second too late.

When he opens his eyes again, Cas, Uriel, and Inias are all gone, and Dean looks over to see that Ruby is hunched protectively over Sam.

“What the…” Dean says, bewildered.

“Anna,” Ruby says suddenly. “Check on Anna.”

Dean nods and hurries into the back room. “Anna,” he says as he’s entering, and then he sees her, hands and arms dripping with blood. “Anna!” he barks, startled, rushing over to check that she’s okay.

“Are they—are they gone?” Anna asks, shaken, and Dean looks up to see that Anna has drawn a mess of sigils on a mirror in her own blood. He grabs a cloth from the table next to Anna and starts wrapping up the wound.

“Did you kill them?” Dean asks, and it’s only as he’s asking this that he realizes he doesn’t want it to be true, if only because he doesn’t want Cas to die. Which is something he should probably think about later, seeing as his first instinct upon coming face to face with the guy was to stab him in the chest.

“No. I sent them away… far away,” Anna answers as Sam and Ruby come inside.

“You want to tell me how?” Dean asks.

“That just popped in my head,” Anna says. “I don’t know how I did it. I just did it.”

Dean shakes his head. “All right, let’s wait for that to clot. In the meantime, we gotta talk. All of us.”

Anna nods. It takes only a minute or two to get Sam and Anna up to speed on what exactly went down while Sam was out cold and Anna was in the other room.

“Okay,” Dean says when the facts have all been laid out. “So my question is, what the hell is Cas?”

“If Anna’s angel-banishing spell worked on him, then he’s gotta be an angel. Inias and Uriel could have been lying—I’d rather believe Cas than the two of them,” Sam says.

“But Sam, you should’ve seen his eyes. They looked just like Lilith’s,” Dean says. Then Dean remembers Ruby’s reaction when she found out that he knew Cas and says, “Wait—Ruby, you never told us how you know Cas.”

“Well you haven’t told me how you know him either, so I think we’re even,” Ruby says.

“Ruby,” Sam says, admonishing, and she huffs, annoyed.

“He’s a… a hybrid,” she says.

“A what?” Dean says.

“Hybrid,” Ruby repeats. “I don’t know where he came from, okay?”

“No, no—explain. What the hell do you mean by _hybrid?_ ” Dean asks.

“He’s part demon, part angel,” Ruby says, looking at Dean like he’s stupid. “Do you not know what the word ‘hybrid’ means? How ‘bout crossbreed, half-blood, mixed—”

“All right, all right, I got it!” Dean snaps.

“So how do you know him?” Sam prompts.

“I already answered one of your questions. You should answer mine,” Ruby says.

“He was the one who pulled Dean out of Hell, okay?” Sam says. “Now how do you know him?”

Ruby gapes at Sam for a moment before shutting her mouth, and Dean frowns because that’s a bit of a weird reaction.

And then Ruby says, “I uh… I knew him while I was still in the pit. He’s been around ever since I became a demon. And he… he’s always worked closely with Lilith and Alastair.”

“No. No, that’s not true,” Dean says vehemently.

“Dean, you don’t know that,” Sam says.

“He was the one who got me outta there, Sam. He can’t be—”

“Hey, calm down. I’m not accusing him of anything,” Sam says. “I’m just saying that you should probably hear Ruby out.”

“Why would he pull me out if he were working with Alastair and Lilith, though?” Dean says. “I mean, hey, Alastair had me right where he wanted me. And Cas didn’t have to help us get outta the church when Alastair cornered us there. Hell, he even showed up to stop Inias and Uriel.”

“But he didn’t stop them. Anna did,” Sam says.

“The point is that he _tried_ , Sam,” Dean says. “He isn’t working for Lilith, I’m sure of it.”

“Have you considered the possibility that it’s all a set-up?” Sam asks. “Maybe they didn’t want the angels to break you out of Hell, so they had their resident hybrid set you free and pretend to be an angel so that you’d trust him over the actual angels.”

“You don’t really believe that,” Dean says, shaking his head. “Inias and Uriel are dicks—you hate them.”

“I don’t know, Dean. I’m just saying that there’s a possibility that—”

“Guys, just drop it for now—we need to go,” Ruby says. “I don’t know what Anna did to whammy those angels, but I doubt it’s permanent, and they know where we are. We’re sitting ducks, here.”

Sam sighs and rubs his forehead. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. We gotta move.” He looks over at Dean. “Bobby’s?”

“Bobby’s,” Dean agrees with a nod.

“Okay, I’ll call him,” Sam says, already heading outside.

Dean starts to follow but notices that Anna is still sitting in the chair in front of the vanity, face vacant. “Hey,” he says, resting a hand on her shoulder and shaking her a little.

“Dean, I—this Cas, you uh… I mean, is that his full name?” she asks, eyes slowly shifting up to focus on Dean’s face.

“No,” Dean says. “Look, we’ll have time for this later. Right now we have to go.”

“Just—tell me his full name,” Anna insists as Dean pulls her to her feet and guides her toward the exit.

“Castiel, okay? It’s Castiel,” Dean says. Anna freezes, and Dean has to push her to keep her moving. “What’s wrong?” he asks. “No wait, don’t tell me—we’ll talk later.”

He ushers her into the backseat of the car and gets in the passenger’s seat up front. As soon as his door’s shut, Sam steps on the gas, and they head back toward the highway.

“We’re gonna have to switch cars,” Sam says as they drive away.

Dean’s preoccupied with watching Anna’s disturbed expression in his side mirror, so it takes a moment for Sam’s words to register with him. “Oh. Yeah, Alastair should be gone now, so we can go pick up the Impala,” he says.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to go back there?” Sam asks.

“Are you kidding me? It’s a terrible idea,” Ruby scoffs from the backseat.

“No one asked you,” Dean snaps. Anna’s brow is deeply furrowed now, and her eyes flick up, meeting Dean’s eyes in the side-view mirror. She quickly turns her head away to look out the window, and Dean says, “Anna, what’s wrong? Why’d you have to—did the angels say something about Cas?”

Anna doesn’t answer, and Sam says, “What are you talking about, Dean?”

“She was asking about Cas’s full name,” Dean says. “And when I told her, I think she was sorta shocked.”

“Anna, you okay?” Sam asks. “Did the name ‘Castiel’ ever come up on angel radio?”

Anna shakes her head slowly. “I uh…” she looks back up and meets Dean’s eyes in the mirror, and he’s surprised to see how clear and focused her gaze is, “…I remember everything now.”

“Everything?”

“Who I am. _What_ I am.”

“Okay, and what are you?” Dean asks.

“I’m an angel.”

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_The process of giving birth is excruciating—after all, it constitutes Anael ripping away a part of himself, a part of his Grace. This was the reason why Michael didn’t want his three fiercest warriors bearing young: it requires partial sacrifice of the bearer’s Grace, and while the bearer can slowly recover, his Grace will never be pristine again._

_Gestation periods for angels are largely unpredictable. They depend on the strength and compatibility of the joined Graces as well as age of the angels involved. When Raphael heard of the fledgling growing within Anael, he called together all of the angels and summoned Joshua to predict the length of gestation—they would need a time frame for their deliberations. But this proved to be difficult because they had no way of knowing how Azazel’s tainted Grace would affect the coupling._

_However, Joshua reminded Raphael that the shortest possible gestation period could not be less than a full Earth year, so he could safely limit negotiations to that period of time._

_The negotiations took quite some time, but there were essentially two possible outcomes for Anael, the two that he himself had already considered prior to informing Raphael of his condition. Anael had been fairly certain that Raphael wanted the unborn angel to be destroyed, but he couldn’t make this sort of decision on his own—other angels would have to agree with him._

_If Anael had gone without Raguel and Azrael, perhaps it would have been a different story, because Raphael would have been less worried about getting Michael involved. But Anael’s two closest brothers_ had _been there, so Raphael had summoned the rest of the angels to meet and determine the fate of the child._

_Pain lances through Anael, and he tries again to detach his thoughts from his being, hoping to numb himself to some of the discomfort._

_The gathering had started off silent, Anael’s brothers taking the time to process the new information they’d received. But soon, they began to speak up._

_Uriel thought the child an abomination and declared that it should be destroyed outright._

_Azrael countered that it should have a fair chance at life._

_Hester worried about how seriously the birth would affect Anael and thought that the parent’s survival would certainly be preferable to the infant’s. Many angels agreed with this point until Joshua confirmed that Anael would surely survive._

_Ariel, who’d been carrying a child himself, asserted that Anael should be allowed to have his child because Ariel couldn’t imagine destroying his own offspring._

_Puriel argued that Michael had specifically wanted Anael, Azrael, and Raguel to remain chaste and complete, intact._

_Of course, Anael pointed out that it was too late for that, in his case. No matter what he chose to do, he would have to mangle a portion of himself, and though destroying the child might be less painful, the damage had already been done._

_Then Zachariah had spoken, said that bringing such corruption into Heaven was intolerable and that he would not stand for it. Anael thought that Raphael’s eyes sparked with approval at Zachariah’s words, but he couldn’t be sure. Several other angels echoed this sentiment, though._

_And then Raguel had stepped forward and reminded them all that one so-called “abomination” already resided in Heaven—Alastair. He went on to argue that they could learn about what Lucifer had done to their brethren, argued that they had far more to gain than to lose if they allowed the child to be born._

_It had been a close call, but the angels as a whole had agreed that Anael should keep the infant._

_So Anael struggles on, trying to remember that it’s a good thing for the creature inside him to be allowed a chance to live._

_Two months ago, Anael watched as Ariel bore a son, one with a bright, golden-yellow Grace who called himself Balthazar. He’d watched as Ariel slowly reached within his Grace and extracted the parts that had become his child, a painstaking process that took over twenty hours._

_But Balthazar had been considered relatively docile, compliant, willing to separate—within the first few hours of Anael’s own ordeal, it became apparently to him that his own fledgling would not part from him so easily. Each time Anael removed some segments of the child’s Grace, one or two tendrils would snake back toward him, hoping to latch back on again._

_It’s been just over two days of constant ache and incessant ripping, and Anael honestly doesn’t know how much more he can take._

_Then Azrael and Raguel appear before him, and he stills, fighting the impulse to shrink away from his brothers. It is not normal for an angel to require assistance in this task, and Anael tells them so, even as he shrinks back from a searching strand of the child’s Grace._

_“No, perhaps it is not normal, but this is not a normal birth,” Azrael says, stepping closer. He takes up a position behind Anael, holding him steady, and looks at Raguel expectantly._

_“Let us help you through his,” Raguel says without moving._

_Anael hesitates for a moment before capitulating, allowing Raguel to step forward and take hold of the infant angel’s Grace._

_“Oh,” Raguel breathes, wonder apparent in his voice, and Anael looks down to see pure, unadulterated blue pouring painlessly out of him and twining around Raguel’s forearm. Anael cannot take his eyes off the infant, even as he slumps back against Azrael in relief._

_“He’s beautiful,” Azrael murmurs, sounding just as awestruck as Raguel._

_Slowly, the infant angel takes shape, uncoiling from Raguel’s limb as he does so. There is something paradoxical about this, Anael muses as he watches the infant’s development, something strangely contradictory about something so bright emerging from so dark an experience. Anael has not seen Grace this blue, this resplendent, since—since Lucifer fell._

_Anael looks up at Raguel and finds his brother staring back at him, thoughts echoed on his face, but neither chooses to speak his mind._

_The wings are the last part to form, large, ebony wings that curve out majestically from the fledgling’s back. The being settles down on the ground but does not speak, merely stares mutely between his three spectators before folding his wings behind his back primly._

_“What is your name?” Anael asks, but he receives no response._

_As Anael opens his mouth to try again, he hears a summoning for the angels to gather—Raphael must have sensed that the child was born._

_“He needs a name,” Azrael says urgently, and he’s right to be worried—the others could construe his lack of a name as God’s will that he should not have been born._

_“Delayed revelation has occurred in the past,” Raguel reminds them, but he seems worried as well. “His coloration is remarkable, but… I sense it will only bring trouble.”_

_Azrael nods. “Too reminiscent of our first fallen brother,” he agrees softly._

_The call sounds again, then, and Anael reaches forward to take his child into his arms._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Castiel hasn’t been banished before, hadn’t even thought that banishing sigils would work on him, owing to the demonic influences coursing through his Grace, but apparently he’s angelic enough for the magic to yank him right out of the fabric of existence and thrust him elsewhere.

It hurts—of course it hurts, as he hasn’t had ample time to recover from the wound that the pagan goddess left on him—but at least it separates him from his half-brothers, leaving him free to escape.

The banishing sigil throws him back onto Earth in the Alps, but he chooses to switch locations a few times before stopping to rest. He’s never been so paranoid before, but then he’s never been in quite so much danger, either.

He eventually chooses an old, abandoned monastery in Germany, one that he’s used a few times in the past but that he has not frequented in recent years. Fortunately, his past excursions to the surface were typically chaperoned by Azazel and not Alastair, and since the two of them always had a rivalry, it stands to reason that Azazel would not have shared much about Castiel with Alastair.

It’s a damn inconvenience, getting torn up while he’s in his vessel, because he’s not angeled-up enough to magic himself better. And he can’t just let go of his vessel to heal himself, because uncontained Grace on Earth is way too conspicuous, way too easy to find.

In the past, he would have had no problem kicking back and letting his friends step in for him while he recuperated, but that was because he had a low-stress—at least for him, it was low-stress—job. But right now, even though he’s built something of a foundation of trust with Dean, it’s still early, likely to change, and he doesn’t want to lose what he’s earned.

It irks him, how unfair these circumstances are. Inias and Uriel can return to Dean almost instantly because they can recover with a snap of their fingers while Castiel must cower out here for the required length of time for his vessel to stitch itself back together.

He wonders what lies Inias and Uriel are feeding Dean now. Okay, maybe they won’t exactly be lying, but they’ll definitely be playing up the _demon_ side of the story, because everyone knows Dean Winchester’s famous hatred of demons and everything associated with them.

With any luck, Ruby will finally share her hex bag with the Winchesters, hiding them from sight. Back in the cabin, the hex bag should have worked to keep them hidden. Then again, Inias and Uriel could have been following since the church, cloaked and unnoticed.

Castiel shivers despite himself and flexes his injured wing, wincing at the pain that lances through him at the motion.

He’s never been one to pray, but he thinks that if he were, he would pray for Dean to have faith.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_Balthazar decides that he is not a very good angel when he is about four months old. He has seen most of the realms of Heaven by then and is bored. Inexorably, stiflingly bored. It appears to be a problem that he alone has, and he sometimes wonders if he was made wrong, if there was a mistake._

_He is sitting in Joshua’s garden—one of the faintly more interesting places in Heaven—when he hears the summoning. His wings are just strong enough now so that he can fly to the meeting place beside Joshua. He suffers a few boring minutes before he witnesses the arrival of a new angel, this one different from the rest._

_He isn’t the only one impressed—a hush falls over the ranks of angels in the realm, brought upon by the brilliant beacon of blue. Balthazar’s never seen anything like it and is instantly entranced._

_The new angel is so small, yet his wings are larger than Balthazar’s, so dark that they don’t seem to even reflect the light, and suddenly Balthazar wants nothing more than to touch those wings, brush them with his Grace and find out whether he, like all other colors, will also be drawn into that unrelenting black._

_Balthazar does not understand much of the proceedings, far too distracted by the new arrival to focus on anything else, but in the end, the other angels slowly disperse. Joshua offers to bring Balthazar back to Ariel, but Balthazar declines, choosing to approach the new angel instead._

_“Raguel!” he cries out, for he’s forgotten the names of the other two angels that are standing with the dark one but will never forget Raguel’s._

_The other angels pay Balthazar no heed as he draws near, but Raguel is kind and attentive and turns immediately. “Balthazar,” he acknowledges, placing a hand on the forearm of the angel who holds the dark one. “Interested in your newest little brother, I presume,” Raguel says, and Balthazar nods._

_“What is his name?”_

_“He hasn’t decided yet,” the dark angel’s holder says. “Now, where’s Ariel? He should be looking after you.”_

_“I was with Joshua,” Balthazar replies. “I’d much rather be with The Little One, though.”_

_“The Little One,” the dark angel’s holder—Anael, Balthazar suddenly recalls—repeats._

_“Yes—we’ll need to call him something until he picks a name, won’t we?” Balthazar says, edging closer._

_“Yes, I suppose we will,” Anael agrees._

_The Little One finally shifts in Anael’s arms, wide eyes peering down at Balthazar, and Balthazar feels like he’s been shocked. “Hello, Little One,” he says. “I’m Balthazar.”_

_Anael smiles apologetically. “We’ve not gotten a word from him yet. But you’re welcome to come with us and try.”_

_Balthazar is only too happy to accept._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_Alastair had expected pain when he was brought up to Heaven, and he was not disappointed. After the post-battle dust had settled, Raphael had come to visit him in his cage, had spent months attempting to undo what his former brother had done._

_“Arariel, come back to us,” Raphael had demanded as he flayed Alastair’s being, twisted and pulled at his Grace. He’d even gone so far as to attempt to construct a pair of wings for Alastair, but that attempt had gone nowhere, and the wings had crumbled to ash upon contact with Alastair’s ruined Grace. When that attempt failed, Raphael had seen fit to keep Alastair with him for a several long weeks, taking his frustration out upon the demon._

_However, he’s not been harmed since then, and it’s been months. Maybe even years—he’s lost count. At this point, he suspects that they are trying to bore him to death, in which case he’d rather they finish him off now, nice and quick. His existence is positively mind-numbing, and there are always angels on guard, ensuring that he will not attempt suicide._

_What these idealistic pansies haven’t yet realized is that Alastair’s will to survive is much greater now than it was when he was an angel. He will not, given the choice, elect to die for his cause, especially now that Father has fallen. What he wants most is to survive._

_So he lives on despite the boredom, holding onto hope that he will find a means of escape and return to Lilith and Azazel—he knows they are still alive, or at least that they managed to evade capture when a group of angels departed from Heaven to retrieve Anael._

_He wonders what they are doing now. He doesn’t expect them to come for him as the angels did for Anael—there is a reason why demons are demons and angels are angels. Alastair knows that were he in their place, he wouldn’t attempt a rescue, either._

_Eventually, Raguel is the only angel who still speaks to him. The others guard silently or talk amongst themselves, ignoring him entirely. A lesser being would probably go mad, but Alastair is patient, infinitely so, and listens carefully to the angels whenever they speak, biding his time._

_He learns that Anael gave birth to an angel that carries part of a demon inside it—a_ hybrid _. Its presence has polarized Heaven, with a good proportion of angels still wanting to see him executed. Still more are fascinated by it, and Alastair has often overheard it described as possessing luster unmatched by any other angel since Father’s departure from Heaven._

_Alastair longs to meet the creature, to see for himself whether or not it merits all the attention that the other angels seem to place upon it. He wants to discover what it looks like and how quickly it would break in his hands._

_And a small part of him hopes that he will catch a glimpse of Father in it._

_But he keeps his desire hidden low, guards it carefully so that the angels will not be able to use it against him, will not be able to bargain with him._

_Rarely any beings in the universe are infallible, and angels certainly are not. One day, they will slip up, and when that day comes, Alastair will be ready._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

“You’re a—how can you possibly be an _angel?_ ” Sam asks from the driver’s seat.

“I’m—don’t worry. I’m not like the others,” Anna says.

“I don’t find that very reassuring,” Ruby says, and when Sam looks at them in the rearview mirror, he sees that Ruby’s leaning against the door, as far from Anna as she can be in this confined space.

Anna smiles, and there’s a hint of sadness in it. “So… Inias, Uriel—they’re the ones that came for me?”

“You know them?” Sam asks.

“One of them. Uriel. We were kind of in the same foxhole,” Anna says.

Sam and Dean exchange glances, and then Dean asks, “So, what, were they like your bosses or something?”

“Try the other way around.”

“Look at you,” Dean says, sounding impressed.

“But why do they want to kill you now?” Ruby asks.

Anna doesn’t respond at first, and Sam takes another peek at the rearview mirror. “I’m… not sure,” she says at last, eyes downcast.

“And why aren’t you all… powered up?” Dean asks.

“I fell.”

There’s a pause, and then Dean says, “Meaning?”

“She fell to Earth,” Ruby says. “Became human.”

Sam makes a left, still en route to the church against his better judgment. “Wait a minute. I don’t understand,” he says. “So, angels can just become human?”

“It kind of hurts,” Anna says shortly. “Try cutting your kidney out with a butter knife. That kind of hurt. I ripped out my Grace.”

“Come again?” Dean says.

“My Grace,” Anna repeats. “It’s… energy. Hacked it out and fell. My mother, Amy, couldn’t get pregnant. Always called me her little miracle. She had no idea how right she was.”

Sam feels regret at this, even though he knows that he and Dean got to the Miltons’ home as fast as they could. They couldn’t have saved her parents, and he still remembers the way Anna’s features had twisted when they told her about her parents. None of that anguish is visible now when Sam looks in the rearview mirror, and he wonders how much of her human past matters to Anna now that she remembers her angelic past.

“So, you just forgot that you were God’s little Power Ranger?” Dean asks in the meantime.

“The older I got, the longer I was human, yeah,” Anna answers.

Then Ruby says, “I don’t think you all appreciate how completely screwed we are.”

Sam wants to tell her to keep her mouth shut, but Anna says, “Ruby’s right. Heaven wants me dead.”

“And Hell just wants her,” Ruby continues. “A flesh-and-blood angel that you can question, torture, that bleeds. Sister, you’re the Stanley Cup. And sooner or later, Heaven or Hell, they’re gonna find you.”

“I know,” Anna replies. “And that’s why I’m gonna get it back.”

“What?” Sam says.

“My Grace.”

“You can do that?” Dean asks.

“If I can find it,” Anna says, and Sam thinks she’s acting a little bit too calm about all this.

“All right, I like this plan,” Dean says. “So, where’s this grace of yours?”

“Lost track,” Anna answers. “I was falling about ten thousand miles per hour at the time.”

Sam pulls up in front of the church, behind the Impala. “Wait,” he says as the others prepare to get out of the car. “You mean falling, like, literally?”

“Yes,” Anna says.

“Like the way a human eye can see? Like a comet, maybe, or a meteor?”

“Why do you ask?” Anna asks.

“If people could have seen it, then there’ll be a record,” Sam says.

“Yeah, great. So let’s get to Bobby’s, and you can start researching your little ass off,” Dean says, cracking a grin in Sam’s direction.

Dean gets out of the car and heads for the driver’s side of the Impala.

“You know, that won’t narrow it down much,” Ruby says as she follows Sam toward the car.

“Yeah, but it’s a start, right?” Sam says, pulling the passenger door open.

“Actually…” Anna starts, and Sam pauses with one foot still out of the car to look back at her.

“Dude, just get in the car. We’ll talk on the road,” Dean urges, starting the engine.

Everyone gets situated, and as soon as Anna’s door slams shut, Dean hits the gas.

“You were saying?” Sam says.

“I appreciate your creativity, but I don’t think tracing my Grace to the spot where it landed will help,” Anna says.

“Why not?” Sam asks.

“I made an agreement to—” Anna pauses, then continues, “It’s a long story.”

“Hey, we got time,” Dean says. “It’ll take us ten hours to get to where we wanna go, anyway.”

“More like twelve or thirteen,” Sam says, giving Dean a pointed look—the last thing they need right now is to be pulled over for speeding. Dean just winks at him.

In the backseat, Anna sighs. “I chose to fall because of Castiel.”

“Makes sense,” Dean says, and Sam frowns at him. Noticing Sam’s expression, Dean says, “Well, she got all her angel-memories back as soon as I told her Cas’s full name was Castiel.”

“Yes,” Anna says. “Castiel is my son. He was taken from me when—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up,” Dean says, looking over his shoulder at Anna. “Cas is your _son?_ ”

“Dean, the road!” Sam barks as the car begins to drift slightly out of the lane.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it!” Dean snaps, facing forward again. His next words are directed to Anna—“I thought all angels were created by God. How can Cas be your—”

“He’s not exactly an angel, remember?” Sam reminds him.

“We were once all created by the hand of God,” Anna says. “But he stopped creating us long ago. Long before he created the first human, even. When the first wars began, we had to mate to increase our numbers if we were to stand a chance against the demon hordes.”

“Okay, let’s move this along,” Ruby says. “Why would you fall because of Cas?”

“The details are no longer so important,” Anna says. “What disturbs me is that my death has been ordered by Heaven. When I fell, I made an agreement with one of my brothers—this is why tracking my Grace would be pointless. He promised to gather it from its landing place and keep it safe for me until I required it again.”

“So it doesn’t make sense that they’d put a hit on you,” Dean says, frowning.

“Could that just be a cover story because they don’t want us to know?” Sam suggests.

“No, definitely not,” Anna says. “Heaven has never been concerned with the opinions of men.”

“But there’s gotta be a way for you to talk to them, right? Make them explain themselves, at least?” Dean says.

“Technically? Yes.”

“Only technically? What’s stopping you?” Sam asks.

“It requires praying to the angel I made the agreement with,” Anna says.

“Okay… so pray to that angel,” Dean says.

“Well I would, but while there _is_ a way to pray to a single angel, prayers can easily be intercepted.”

“So?”

“So,” Anna says with a longsuffering sigh, “any other angel could easily pick it up and trace it back to us.”

“Actually, if you angels are all as all-powerful as you claim to be, why is it that there aren’t any angels after us right now?” Sam says. “I mean, maybe you put Inias and Uriel out of commission for now, but why aren’t there any other angels coming to grind us into the ground?”

“We’re given assignments,” Anna says. “Angels can’t just leave Heaven without permission. If I—if my execution has been assigned to Inias and Uriel, then they’re the ones who are supposed to kill me. I guess it’s a good sign that no one else is coming down—it means they haven’t issued an order for me to be killed on sight.”

After a pause, Ruby says, “There might be another reason why the angels aren’t after us right now.”

Sam twists in his seat to look at her just as she pulls a hex bag out of an inner pocket of her jacket. “A hex bag?” he says, raising one eyebrow.

“Extra-crunchy,” Ruby replies. “It can hide us from angels, demons, all comers.”

“May I?” Anna asks, and Ruby hands the bag over after a moment of hesitation. Sam watches curiously as Anna gives it a good sniff. “It’s authentic,” she pronounces.

“You can tell just by smelling it?” Sam says.

Anna only nods.

“How did the angels find us while we were in the cabin, then?” Dean asks.

“They must have been following us,” Ruby says. “Alastair waited for you and followed you from Anna’s house, so the angels definitely could have done the same once they realized Alastair didn’t kill us at the church.”

“Does that make sense to you, Anna?” Dean asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, they probably waited for Alastair to have the first shot just to see if they could get you out of their way,” she answers.

“Out of their way,” Dean repeats, jaw set. “That does sound like them, doesn’t it, Sam?”

Sam thinks back to how impassive Uriel had looked when he listed off the population of Mahnomen, Minnesota, when he’d said that he’d “purified” other cities before. “Yeah,” he agrees as he turns to face forward again, “it sounds just like them.”

“Angels are… wired to take orders,” Anna says. “Some of us are more inclined to do so than others, but if they seem to lack empathy, that is probably the reason why. I do not blame them for trying to kill me—it was cruel of me to banish them like that when they were only following orders.”

“Cruel? Why—does it hurt them?” Sam asks.

“Yes,” Anna says, and regret is apparent in her voice. “It rips at our—their—wings. Wings can heal, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

“This is all very touching, but pity party for the mass-murdering angels aside, will this hex bag work to keep us hidden if you pray to an angel?” Ruby asks Anna.

“It should,” Anna replies.

“ _Should?_ I think we need something better than _should_ ,” Dean says.

“I’m almost certain,” Anna says.

“Why don’t we uh, get to Bobby’s first?” Sam says. “We can strategize on the way there, make preparations just in case the hex bag doesn’t work, and the angels trace your prayer back to us.”

“I don’t think we should wait,” Ruby says. “Every minute we spend not getting Anna’s Grace back is another minute that those dickbags have to recover.”

“I agree with Sam—it’d be better to have a plan,” Anna says. “I only know that this particular hex bag is effective for hiding from supernatural creatures, but I don’t know if it will obscure the wearer’s location if he or she is praying directly to an angel.”

“Waiting it is, then,” Dean says. “So, how ‘bout some tunes?”

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_It has been over two years since Alastair first heard of the hybrid when he finally seizes an opportunity. He has been docile under surveillance long enough that the angels higher up are less concerned with securing him and have begun to send the younger generation of angels in the keep watch._

_Among these is one particular angel—Rachel—who is rash and short-tempered. Alastair has gotten the angel to actually speak with him on a few occasions, but he hasn’t made his move yet, choosing instead to allow Rachel to fall into a false sense of security._

_Now, though, Alastair decides that he’s done enough waiting._

_“Don’t you ever get bored here?” he says. Rachel does not answer, but that’s normal. It usually takes some coaxing before the angel is angry enough to respond. Alastair tries again. “Why don’t you tell me some more about your half-breed brother? Or are you too ashamed of Anael to even think about it?”_

_“I have nothing to be ashamed of,” Rachel says stiffly._

_“Well no, not you personally, of course,” Alastair says with a smile. “But Anael’s actions—surely those were shameful.”_

_“You couldn’t be farther from the truth,” Rachel responds, aiming a glare at Alastair. “Our brother is as noble as he ever was.”_

_“Oh, you’ve been misled, poor child,” Alastair says. “Didn’t you know that Anael wanted it to happen?”_

_“Be silent. If you continue, I’ll have no choice but to force your silence.”_

_But Alastair continues, “Anael wanted that child, wanted to be bred, wanted to be a demon’s good, obedient little bitch—” and as he speaks, Rachel moves closer to the binding wards, turbulent, crimson fury swelling up and muddling his customarily violet Grace, “—and when the time comes and Azazel wants his child, Anael will deliver his offspring to his master and beg for another to take its place.”_

_“I’ll kill you where you stand!” Rachel roars, surging forward._

_This is exactly what Alastair has been waiting for. As soon as Rachel’s blade passes through the wards, Alastair grasps his arm and twists it, calm, the experience that comes with age giving him the upper hand against Rachel’s anger-fueled impulsiveness. Disarmed and startled, Rachel pulls his hand back, drawing Alastair through the wards with it._

_Rachel opens his mouth to cry out, but Alastair is too quick, murmurs an incantation to temporarily cut Rachel’s voice off from the rest of the Host. Then Alastair traces the Enochian word for sleep, one that he spent a ridiculously long time trying to remember, onto Rachel’s arm, and the angel falls unconscious._

_Alastair glances back beyond the wards regretfully—Rachel’s blade lies just within, and if Alastair could only reach inside… but if he did, he would be trapped again, and all of this would have been for naught. He settles for scratching the sigil into Rachel’s arm with a fingernail. It’s sloppy and not even close to his best work, but it’s the best he can do with his current resources._

_Satisfied that the angel will not be waking up anytime soon, Alastair prepares to depart. He lifts Rachel, planning to carry the incapacitated angel with him as a cover for his presence as he moves through Heaven. His first instinct is to go to the nearest crack in the boundary between Heaven and Earth, but before he can shift out of the realm, he remembers the hybrid, remembers all the things he’s heard about it. He wants to see it, and besides, when he returns to Lilith and Azazel, he’ll need to prove to them that he is still loyal, somehow._

_After deciding to look for the hybrid, Alastair deliberates over where he should go first. It is dangerous to fly through the realms indiscriminately—it’d be too easy to run into other angels. So he considers it for a length of time before choosing to go to the garden. It is a central location, and Joshua is not a warrior—he would not choose to fight Alastair even if they did meet._

_Having made up his mind, Alastair makes for the garden._

_Upon arrival, Alastair realizes that this was an excellent choice. He hears a young voice calling out—“Little One, Little One, where are you?”—and remembers how disorienting this place is. He had learned how to sense his brothers in this place where senses were dulled and everything cluttered and distorted._

_Alastair sees a flash of wings, midnight-black, and quickly follows in their wake._

_“Little One?” the voice calls again, from farther away this time, searching and playful._

_The pitch-black wings stop and fold up, and Alastair finally lays eyes on the hybrid that he’s heard so much about. He’d doubted the things that the angels said about its brightness—surely none could ever match up to Father, even after his fall from Heaven—but it’s true. Absolutely, undeniably true. The hybrid’s Grace is blinding, yet Alastair cannot look away._

_Yes, he thinks, this creature would look so utterly perfect in his possession._

_Then, as though sensing he has an audience, the hybrid spins around, eyes instantly landing on Alastair. The demon braces himself for the sounding of an alarm, but the hybrid makes no sound, only tilts his head to the side, curious._

_“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” the other angel calls in a singsong voice, but still the hybrid remains silent._

_“You don’t speak,” Alastair whispers._

_The hybrid says nothing._

_Alastair looks back and forth quickly before setting down his cargo and moving closer to the hybrid. “I am your kin, come to take you home,” he murmurs._

_The hybrid only continues to stare, and Alastair hopes he is not mindless, because that would be a damn shame. But then the hybrid moves forward, spreading his wings to their full span, and Alastair takes a step back despite himself, surprised at how large they are._

_“There you are!” cries the other angel triumphantly._

_Alastair suffers a moment of panic, but then a small, strong hand curls around his wrist, and for the first time in decades, he’s_ flying _._

_They reach the border between Heaven and Earth, but the hybrid slices through the barrier as though it weren’t there, something Alastair had thought impossible—there are cracks in the boundary, but he has never heard of anyone entering or exiting with such ease. It’s… uncanny._

_Upon landing on Earth, the hybrid looks around with undisguised curiosity but doesn’t leave Alastair’s side—he seems to realize that Alastair is the only thing he recognizes in this new environment, so despite his curiosity, he will not stray._

_This is a good thing, for when Alastair closes his eyes and extends his mind to search for the entrance to Hell, he finds nothing. He’d heard the angels talking about how the realms had been separated, with only one or two gates allowing passage between them, but Alastair had thought that Lilith and Azazel would leave some sort of an opening for him. Clearly, they hadn’t had much faith in him._

_But eventually, Alastair does find one of the gateways, on a continent that is populated by very few humans—settlements have not yet started developing, here._

_The hybrid is loath to leave this new, fascinating place, but Alastair manages to drag him along, and they descend into Hell together. They are instantly surrounded by a number of demons, all of which Alastair recognizes._

_“Tell Lilith and Azazel that I’ve returned,” Alastair says calmly, looking from one familiar face to the next and feeling satisfied that they recognize him as well._

_Three demons break away from the group to carry the message._

_As the surprise as Alastair’s arrival wears off, the remaining demons start looking at the hybrid curiously—it is nothing they have seen before, so it is only logical that they would be interested, but Alastair cannot suppress the swell of possessiveness he feels—he wants to stand in front of the hybrid, hide it from the scrutiny of inferior, unworthy eyes. Jealousy pulses in his being when he looks at the hybrid and finds his eyes flitting from one demon to the next, intrigued._

_Then Lilith appears before him. “It’s true,” she says, surprised._

_“Yes,” Alastair says._

_But his sister frowns deeply. “There is no way you could have escaped from Heaven. What are you doing here? What are your orders?”_

_“I am not working for Heaven,” Alastair says._

_“Then how did you leave without being detected?”_

_“I have him to thank for that,” Alastair answers, indicating the hybrid with a tilt of his head._

_Lilith steps closer, and the hybrid stands his ground. “Who are you?” Lilith asks._

_Silence._

_“He doesn’t speak,” Alastair explains. “The angels don’t know why either.”_

_Lilith observes the hybrid for a long moment, and Alastair wonders if she’s thinking about Father, about the lightning blue of his Grace that may just be equaled by that of the hybrid’s, and the blinding white of his wings, so stark in contrast with the infinite darkness of the hybrid’s obsidian wings._

_Finally, Lilith says, “Is this the child—Azazel’s child?”_

_“Yes,” Alastair answers. “I took him from Heaven with you and Azazel in mind, but I honestly do not think I could have escaped undetected were it not for him.”_

_“Interesting,” Lilith says. “Come. Azazel should be returning shortly.”_

_Lilith moves before Alastair can really question her, so he taps the hybrid on the shoulder to let him know it’s time to go, and they follow Lilith downwards, deeper into Hell._

_“Where is Azazel?” Alastair asks when he draws close enough to speak to Lilith._

_“He went to Earth to collect more humans,” Lilith replies._

_“How much time has passed since I was captured?” Alastair asks next—toward the beginning he had asked the angels—in his confinement, it was impossible to tell time by any measurement._

_“Here?” Lilith pauses, frowning. “Almost five centuries,” she decides eventually, “if not more.”_

_Alastair does the math and says, “So I was only held by them for a little over four years.”_

_“Yes,” Lilith confirms._

_“What have you been doing in all this time, then?”_

_Lilith doesn’t answer, and Alastair supposes it’s because she does not yet trust him fully—or perhaps it is just the hybrid that she mistrusts. Either way, the rest of their journey passes in silence._

_The space has expanded in the time that Alastair has been gone, and he catches glimpses of entire chambers dedicated to torture, to that delightful transformation of human souls from fuel to fire, potential to kinetic._

_They stop in a place that Alastair does not recognize, one that wasn’t here before the battle. It makes sense that a lot of construction would have taken place over the course of half a millennium, and Alastair feels cheated, having lost so much time._

_The place is mostly vacant, with a cavernous ceiling that seems to stretch on and on indefinitely—a powerful illusion. He stares at it for a long while and almost thinks that it might reach straight up through the barrier between Hell and Earth and into the night sky above. Turning his attention back to the rest of the room, he sees that the walls are covered with gouges and burns and dents, pockmarks left over from scuffles. The rug of skin on the ground is worn thin._

_“You’ve returned,” Azazel says._

_Alastair starts—he hadn’t known his brother to move so quietly before, but it appears five hundred years have done wonders for his stealth. “Yes, I have,” Alastair says, turning._

_But Azazel’s eyes are already not on Alastair anymore, fixed instead on the hybrid. Alastair looks over and sees that his charge is staring right back, eyes wide. Yet again, jealousy burns deep inside him as he wonders what the hybrid sees in Azazel. When the hybrid steps toward Azazel, Alastair almost grasps his shoulder to hold him back. Then—_

_“Father.”_

_The hybrid’s voice is rough, a low rumble that Alastair had not expected from one whose Grace shined so brightly. But it serves as yet another parallel with Alastair’s own father—Father’s voice had a deep, rich quality, also discordant with the brightness of his Grace._

_“My child,” Azazel says, soft, reaching one hand out._

_The hybrid takes another step forward and hesitates, but Azazel gives an encouraging nod, and the fledgling crosses the rest of the short distance between them, pressing his cheek into Azazel’s hand. Irrationally, Alastair wants to take Azazel’s place, wants to have some claim over this creature. Azazel’s free hand brushes over the arch of one of the hybrid’s wings, and the fledgling looks up at his father before spreading his wings out, clearly seeking approval._

_“They’re beautiful,” Azazel says._

_The hybrid positively beams at that, and Alastair wants to look away, but he can’t._

_“What is your name?” Azazel asks._

_And the hybrid answers, at long last, “Castiel.”_

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

“So he’s not answering, huh?”

Anna looks up as Dean sits down next to her. “No, he’s not,” she replies.

“Bummer. Anything else we can try? Hell, if you know his name, we could try a summoning.”

“You… know a spell for that?” Anna says, surprised.

“Yeah. I uh, I summoned Cas.”

“Can you tell me how you did it?”

And Dean explains the set-up that he and his friend, Bobby, put together in a barn to summon Castiel because they didn’t know what he was or what he wanted from Dean.

Anna smiles, because she may not remember _everything_ just yet—human minds have only so much capacity to remember, anyway—but she knows for sure that the routine Bobby took Dean through was not what brought Castiel to them. She tells Dean as much, and he scowls.

“Yeah, I thought it took weirdly long for him to show up,” he grumbles.

“He was probably watching you and Bobby for some time before he dropped in,” Anna says.

“Great,” Dean says. “So is there any other way for you to contact him? The angel you dealt with, I mean.”

“As a human? No,” Anna says, shaking her head. “If he’s not answering now, it’s either because he’s dead, or he’s been given explicit orders not to.”

“Wait, I thought you said he was your friend. Wouldn’t he—”

“He’s an angel, Dean. As angels, we had friends, brothers we valued above the others, but orders always came first,” Anna says. “If Raguel received an order…”

“Well I say that’s crap,” Dean says. “If he’s on your side, he should stay on your side. Some crap ruling against you shouldn’t mean anything to him if he’s really your friend.”

“I know, Dean. But he is still an angel. We’re pretty much programmed to take orders. You can’t expect that to just change.”

“But you decided to fall. That must have been against orders, right?” Dean says.

“That took a lot of bravery, and a good bit of insanity too. I couldn’t—” Anna stops, an echo of emotions long buried rising back up to the surface. And it hurts, it hurts just as much as she remembered.

“You can tell me,” Dean says gently.

“You’ve never had a child. You wouldn’t understand.”

Dean chuckles, but there’s no trace of real amusement behind it. “You’d be surprised,” he says.

Anna looks at him curiously. Dean is old enough to have fathered a child, perhaps, but his lifestyle as a hunter wouldn’t permit him to raise a child, to develop a connection strong enough to—unless—Sam, she realizes. Dean is talking about Sam.

“Okay then, maybe I’m wrong,” Anna says. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I won’t force you, then,” Dean says. “Oh, and here, Ruby put together another one o’ these—” he reaches into his pocket and holds out a hex bag, “—but the ingredients are pretty hard to come by, so don’t lose it.”

“Thank you,” Anna says, taking it from him.

“So… you hungry?”

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_Anael explodes with fury and anguish when Balthazar arrives with news of Little One’s disappearance._

_“Where could he have gone? Why would he ever leave Heaven? How could you let him out of your sight?” Anael rails, and Raguel has to hold him back so that he doesn’t hurt anyone._

_“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Balthazar says. “And there is something else: I found a sleeping angel in the garden, but I don’t remember his name.”_

_“Sleeping?” Azrael says, concerned. “Angels don’t sleep, Balthazar.”_

_“Yes, I know. That’s why I’m telling you. It was strange to me.”_

_“Show me,” Azrael says. But he pauses and turns to Raguel to say, “I will return shortly. Will you—”_

_“Yes, we’ll be fine,” Raguel answers. “Go.”_

_Azrael nods and departs with Balthazar. As soon as the pair has gone, Anael collapses, and Raguel tightens his grip, holding him upright._

_“How could he go? Why would he go, Raguel?”_

_“I don’t know,” Raguel says quietly._

_Anael’s pain washes over him in waves, emotions so strong that Raguel is hardly able to handle it—he can’t even begin to imagine the intensity of experiencing them firsthand. He has never seen an angel separated from his offspring before, so he cannot gauge whether Anael’s is a normal reaction._

_“It’ll be all right, brother,” Raguel murmurs after a while, for lack of anything better to say._

_Then Azrael reappears, looking extremely worried._

_“What is it?” Raguel asks._

_“It was Rachel, rendered unconscious by a complicated set of sigils,” Azrael responds. A shiver runs through Raguel as his brother adds, “Rachel was the angel on duty to guard Alastair today.”_

_“Does this mean—that demon must have taken my child,” Anael says._

_“We don’t know that,” Azrael contradicts, but Anael is clearly set on this theory already, and it is certainly not without merit._

_“It can’t have been a coincidence,” Anael says. “We need to get him back—I need to find him.”_

_“We cannot simply leave Heaven on a whim,” Raguel says. “We’ll have to bring the matter to Raphael first.”_

_“Raphael never wanted him to be born,” Anael argues. “Perhaps he will not display it outwardly, but I am sure he will be secretly pleased that my child has gone. He will not allow us to bring him back into Heaven now that he’s gone.”_

_“What, then? Are you suggesting that we blatantly undermine Raphael’s authority by going to Michael?”_

_“I can’t care about propriety right now. My child is in the hands of a demon, Raguel.”_

_“That does not give you leave to abandon reason,” Raguel says firmly. “Alastair has escaped. We can leave Heaven under the guise of attempting to recapture him.”_

_“All right, then. We’ll go to Raphael now,” Anael says._

_“No,” Raguel says, holding out a hand to stop Anael from flying off. “You are far too agitated for this. I will report to him alone and request to lead a group of angels to search for Alastair on Earth.”_

_“Fine,” Anael says._

_“Azrael, you have to watch over him. Make sure he does not try to go on his own.”_

_“I know,” Azrael says._

_“I will return as soon as possible,” Raguel says._

_“Please do,” Anael says._

_Raguel smiles bracingly at his brother and then takes off to locate Raphael._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_Lilith is suspicious of Alastair at first, but it does not take long for him to prove himself as one of their own. The hybrid that he brought back—Castiel—shows absolute obedience to his father, and Alastair does not hesitate to follow orders either, to gain trust, Lilith is sure._

_Having Alastair back on the team is excellent. Azazel and Lilith have never been particularly skilled at turning human souls into demons, and while Meg, Alastair’s star pupil, is talented, she certainly doesn’t have Alastair’s touch._

_Seeing as Lilith intends to strengthen the forces of Hell until they can properly contend with those of Heaven, building an army is of utmost importance. She hopes that in collaborating with Alastair and Azazel, she will create a Hell populated by millions of demons, enough so that they outnumber Heaven by hundreds of thousands to one. Perhaps individual demons do not stand a chance against the warriors of Heaven, but when faced with unending hordes, even the most resilient angels will fall._

_The powers that be seem to believe that they have everything under control, now that Lucifer is safely locked up in his cage. Lilith intends to show them just how wrong they are._

_A few Hell-months after his return, Lilith is convinced that Alastair is obsessed with Castiel. When the hybrid is nearby, Alastair’s eyes invariably track his motions. If Lilith didn’t know better, she would say that Alastair was smitten. As it is, the demon almost seems to want to take Azazel’s place—she’s caught him watching Azazel more than once with murderous expressions, almost always in Castiel’s presence, as though the hybrid’s proximity brings out some sort of possessiveness in him._

_Azazel and Castiel appear oblivious to the attention they’re receiving from Alastair, and Lilith is content to sit back and observe. After all, she has not yet discovered a way of using this piece of information to her benefit, so it is no harm to watch and nurture Alastair’s fixation._

_In the meantime, Azazel continues to bring demons on his trips to claim more souls for the pit, and soon enough, Azazel doesn’t even need to go with them anymore. And then there comes a day when the rack is filled, so Azazel and his group of demons choose to rest and bear witness to the start of some new developments, making more room to accommodate the growing number of demons residing in Hell._

_Lilith oversees all and is pleased._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Anna is sitting out on the porch when the sun rises, first rays poking up over the horizon and lighting up the sky. There are no clouds in sight today, and the beautiful blue stretches out seemingly infinitely. Anna closes her eyes and gets a flashback to Castiel’s Grace, and she can hardly remember the way other Graces had looked, but his she still remembers clearly.

When Anna opens her eyes again, the sky seems to pale in comparison.

“Anna!”

That’s Dean, calling from within the house. Anna stands and turns as he and Sam come to the door, and she leans a bit to the side to see if the demon is with them. “Where’s Ruby?” she asks.

“Took off to get some supplies,” Sam answers.

“Look, Anna, I—” Dean starts.

But there’s a flutter of wings, and Anna closes her eyes with a sigh, perfectly aware of what—or rather whom—she’ll see when she turns around. Sure enough, standing incongruously among the rusted junk cars of Singer Salvage Yard are two angels, and maybe she can’t recognize them by Grace anymore, but she certainly recognizes the smug look on Uriel’s face. His companion, then, must be Inias.

“Hello again, Anael,” Uriel says. His voice sounds strangely deeper that Anna remembered.

“Uriel,” she acknowledges.

“You must be wondering how we found you here, despite those pesky hex bags that that eyesore made for you,” he says.

“On the contrary, I know exactly what you did to find us,” Anna says. “I may not have access to all of my memories, but I remember how we angels approached problems. Specifically, I remember your tactics.”

From behind her, Anna hears Dean say, “I’m sorry.”

She smiles over her shoulder. “You did your best—it’s okay. I forgive you.”

“I am Inias,” the second angel says as Anna turns to look forward again. “I’m sorry that we had to meet under these conditions.”

“Save it,” Anna says. “I’m ready. Just make it quick.”

Uriel moves toward her slowly. “It’s such a waste, to kill you like this,” he says as he approaches. “You were powerful, graceful, glorious, and you threw it all away. And for what? For an abomination that can’t even recognize you.”

“You don’t know that,” Anna says, even as she thinks back to the brief glimpse she’d caught of him when he was bringing them from the church to the motel. She hadn’t gotten a good look at him, and she can only assume that he didn’t get a good look at her, either.

“Oh, but I do. How many centuries—how many millennia—did that slime spend in Hell, working for his father? Compare that to the measly number of years he spent with you in Heaven. He won’t remember you, Anael.”

Uriel is only a few steps away from her now, and something pulls at her, something hot and familiar, and Anna realizes with a jolt that her Grace is drawing near—it must be on Uriel’s person.

“He will know me,” Anna says, hoping to distract Uriel by continuing the conversation. “He will know me just as I knew him.”

Uriel scoffs and shakes his head, and Anna takes the time to pinpoint the location of her Grace—it is hanging in a pendant around Uriel’s thick neck.

“You are as hopeless now as you were then,” Uriel says, a note of almost regret entering his voice. “Well, I’ll put a stop to that for you.” He takes another step forward, and now he’s within arm’s reach. “I can end it all for you.”

“Yes,” Anna says, eyes inexplicably flitting to Inias for an instant—the angel looks sad, which is more than Anna would have expected from an angel who had never met her before—before returning to Uriel. “I suppose you can.”

But as Uriel slowly—he always did have a tendency to be dramatic, Anna remembers—lifts his hand toward her forehead with intent to smite, Anna whips her hand out and snatches the pendant, taking two huge steps back as she does so. The cord around Uriel’s neck snaps as she does so, and he cries out in alarm and protest, but it’s too late—Anna flings the pendant to the ground, and it shatters.

Uriel draws back, eyes wide, and Anna barely has the time to glance behind her at the Winchesters before her Grace is rising up, coming toward her—

“Shut your eyes!” she manages even as her Grace begins to enter her body. “Shut your eyes!” she cries out again, because the last thing she wants is for Sam or Dean to end up blind because of her. Her Grace is hot, too hot, burning her flesh from the inside out, and she screams one last time, “Shut your eyes!”

Anna is obliterated in one instant and reborn, whole again, in the next.

It takes a moment for her to pinpoint her own location—she is in a nondescript patch of trees on a hill overlooking the Ohio River. She wishes that she still retained her old body, but she has no vessel now, and she really isn’t sure whether or not she should take one, whether she should risk appearing on Earth at all. The other angels must still be looking for her, after all.

The weight of millennia of memories comes crashing down on her—she’d thought that she remembered everything before, but she only remembered as much as her human brain could comprehend. She holds still, trying her best to process the multitude of information about herself.

Anna regains stability in just under an hour, and flipping back through her newly reacquired memories, she finds it strange that she still identifies so much with her human life, almost just as much as her angelic one. How can a mere two decades possibly measure up to anything when compared to millennia of existence?

And yet she still identifies with the name Anna more than Anael, feels that she has a gender now. Is humanity really so powerful that it trumps angelic existence so soundly?

But she doesn’t linger too long on these thoughts—she has finally regained her Grace and, with it, the capability of searching for her long-lost child. So she spreads her wings and takes flight, searching the Earth for Castiel.

However, Anna quickly realizes that Castiel is nowhere to be found—he’s clearly warding against angels. And it makes sense, seeing as Castiel has been in Hell for such a long time that angels cannot possibly receive him in a friendly manner.

But Anna feels frantic. She lost so much time wandering the Earth in her different reincarnations, never really knowing satisfaction because she never quite knew what it was that she was reaching toward. Now, she can finally find peace, yet Castiel remains elusive, and Anna thinks she might go mad if she doesn’t find him soon.

For some reason, Castiel seems invested in the Winchesters. Anna isn’t sure why that would be, but she decides that that would be a good place to start, so she casts about for Dean Winchester.

Nothing.

“That’s impossible,” Anna murmurs, landing in Singer Salvage Yard, the place from which she’d gone.

Through one of the windows, she clearly sees Dean, talking animatedly—heatedly—with his brother. Yet when Anna casts out for his location, she senses nothing. Is he… soulless? But no, that can’t be right—if she concentrates hard enough, she can sense his soul. She tests her sight on Sam Winchester and sees the darkness swirling within him, sees the taint that mars his soul. So it is not her sight that is impaired.

Then she realizes that Castiel could be trying to protect him. It’s powerful magic, warding a mortal with Enochian sigils of invisibility, and Anna is surprised that Castiel would even know these sigils—she still remembers her ordeal with Lilith and Azazel, remembers the way they were unable to recall most sigils. Does Castiel retain full angelic mastery of Enochian?

A foreign presence circles the salvage yard once, and Anna tilts her head back, looks up carefully. The creature does not attempt to mask itself from her, even looks straight down at her with a mournful expression.

Lachesis. It’s Lachesis, the measurer of the thread, the apportioner of life, the second of the Three Fates. All creatures know of her and her sisters, but Anna remembers her personally, and when Lachesis sends a sad smile in Anna’s direction, it is clear that she has been recognized as well.

Anna blinks, and the Fate is invisible again. Anna can sense her presence lingering, but she can no longer be seen. It is true that the Winchesters have much ahead of them, but there is no reason for Lachesis to be circling them. What is she doing here?

“Anael.”

Anna starts and turns—the newcomer must be powerful if he managed to catch her by surprise, and sure enough, her gaze lands on a familiar Grace, encased in an unfamiliar vessel. “Gabriel,” she murmurs.

“That’s me!” he says, grinning. “Now, would you prefer Anna or Anael?”

“Anna. Please,” she replies, still awestruck. When she fell, Gabriel had not been seen since the battle. He looks completely relaxed and comfortable in his vessel, in a way that angels seldom are.

“I understand you’re looking for Castiel. I can point you in the right direction,” the archangel offers.

“Why would you do that?”

“Let’s just say I’ve been watching him for some time, and I’m fond of the little guy. He could use a little parental guidance.”

Anna can’t tell whether or not Gabriel is lying to her. “Where have you been for all this time? I assume you still haven’t returned to Heaven.”

“Nope. Michael and Lucifer, the apocalypse… I don’t want anything to do with it,” he says, shrugging.

“So why are you doing this? Why show your face now? Aren’t you worried that the angels will capture me and force me to tell them about you?”

“Nope, not really,” Gabriel says. “All you’d be able to tell them is that I’m alive, and they all know that anyway—would’ve felt it if I’d died. So, do you want the hint or not?”

“Yes, I do,” Anna says.

“Great!”

“Oh, and one more thing—is there any way you could give me back my own body?”

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_They’ve been scouring the Earth for one full week when they are called back to Heaven. Anael has never wanted to ignore an order as much as he does this one, but Raguel drags him back up against his will. Raphael tells them that Alastair will surely have escaped into Hell by now—any further searching will not return any satisfactory results._

_Anael aches to protest, to explain his point-of-view. He manages to hold his tongue, but only just, and as soon as they are out of their elder brother’s presence, he turns to Azrael and Raguel and points out how unjust it is that they were allowed to go into Hell to rescue Anael, yet Anael is not permitted to even search the Earth for his child._

_Raguel and Azrael keep a close eye on Anael for the following days, but Anael manages to slip away, enlisting Balthazar as help to create a distraction. Instead of leaving Heaven, however, Anael goes to Michael and pleads for his audience._

_But when he finally gets through to his brother, Michael simply tells him to bring his concern to Raphael. Anael asks Michael to reconsider, but the archangel’s decision is final, and when Anael persists, Michael sends him away to Raphael with a flick of his wrist._

_Raphael is surprised by Anael’s sudden appearance, but he hides it instantly._

_“You’ve come about the hybrid,” he says._

_“About my son, yes,” Anael responds._

_“I believe I’ve already made myself clear, Anael. It is… regretful that you’ve lost your offspring, but you can have more. The hybrid was a risk to begin with. This is the best outcome.”_

_“How can you say that?”_

_“Our problem has essentially solved itself. Can you imagine how tiresome it would be to watch him grow, to have to constantly worry that he would someday choose his demonic instincts over his angelic ones?” Raphael says. “Now, he will be raised as one of the enemy, and that’s that.”_

_“But you could make the reverse argument on their side—he’s just as likely to choose his angelic instincts,” Anael argues. “It is not too late. If we find him and bring him back now, we can still—”_

_“They will no doubt have made it into Hell already. Do you really wish to risk the lives of your brothers for a creature that isn’t even fully an angel?”_

_“He is my_ son _,” Anael emphasizes._

_“We are all children of God,” Raphael says._

_“Yes, I know, but—”_

_“Enough, Anael,” Raphael says firmly. “I have been patient with you, but I will not allow you to waste my time any longer.”_

_“Brother, please—”_

_“Leave me.”_

_Anael almost opens his mouth to try again, but he decides against it. He knows that he has no grounds to stand against Raphael, not when Michael has clearly left the decision up to him. So Anael takes flight._

_He senses Azrael and Raguel looking for him and lands in a random realm. After casting a quick duplicating spell, he leaves behind a decoy and slips toward the fringes of Heaven, searching for a crevice through which he can exit. He hasn’t left without permission before and knows that it is forbidden, but he needs guidance, needs to speak to an impartial observer. He knows that he cannot stage a rescue under his own steam, but he cannot just give up on his child._

_It is surprisingly easy to leave Heaven, when he finds an opening in the barrier. He passes through without difficulty and lands in an unpopulated area on Earth. But to whom can he go for help?_

_He is beginning to despair when a presence closes in around him, and he draws his blade in anticipation._

_“At ease, warrior. I have not come here to fight you,” the being says as it solidifies before Anael._

_He does not recognize it until it is fully formed—“Lachesis?” he says._

_The Fate smiles and says, “You have a good eye, Anael.”_

_“Why have you come to me? Is this to do with my son?”_

_“It is indeed,” Lachesis answers. “Your child is unique, the only one of his kind that has ever been created before, and he will likely remain the only one for all time. We were all shocked when Clotho spun his thread.”_

_“What is his fate, then?” Anael asks._

_“Of all the threads we’ve woven, his is by far the most unstable and unexpected,” Lachesis says. “So many choices lie ahead, for him. Some will bring greatness; others tragedy. Be wary and guard closely your little one, Anael. His whims may change the world.”_

_“But—he’s already been stolen from me,” Anael says. “How can I guard him if he is no longer with me?”_

_“Fret not. There will come a time when you will be reunited with your son. It has been foretold that you may still have time to stop him from making a fatal error.”_

_Anael shivers at the sound of the words—fatal error is rather ominous—but it appears he’ll be able to stop that from happening. “How will I know when the time comes? How will I know what to do?”_

_Lachesis smiles again. “You are so young, Anael. Have patience. Your son will return to Earth, and he will find his way back to you.”_

_“Thank you, Lachesis,” Anael says. “Your guidance is much appreciated.”_

_“Glad I could be of assistance,” the Fate says. After a pause, she slowly dissolves into thin air, and Anael is left standing alone again._

_With great reluctance, Anael returns to Heaven._


	3. Escalation

Thirty-four seals have broken. They’re over halfway there, and Sam _still_ doesn’t trust her, and sure, it’s supposed to be a timing thing and she’s supposed to drag this out, but Ruby would be lying if she said she wasn’t frustrated and anxious. Orders and confirmation are really fucking hard to come by, especially since Lilith is paranoid as all hell.

And now there’s the matter of Castiel to worry about. Has he really struck out against Lilith and Alastair, or is this another scheme of theirs that she’s not supposed to know about? She remembers him telling her that she only needs to do her part, that she doesn’t need to know his purpose. It’s what Lilith has said to her more than once. She and Azazel always played their cards close to the chest, never told anyone the full plan. Except Alastair, maybe—especially now that Azazel is gone.

But Cas could just as easily have been lying. He’s been around long enough to know that Ruby would believe him. What reason does he have to betray them, though? Then again, it isn’t as though he has a particular reason to remain loyal to them, either. Azazel’s dead, and Anna is apparently his mom, which is probably one of the weirdest things Ruby’s ever heard.

But weird or not, it’s bad news for Ruby, because for some reason, the Winchesters trust Anna—probably because she has those innocent eyes and because they had to _protect_ her and hell, _everyone_ knows that the Winchesters have this awful savior complex. She wonders vaguely if that’s what it would take to get Sam to _really_ trust her. Should she dumb herself down, make herself vulnerable, and let them save her?

 No. Never. That’s way too demeaning, and she won’t do it.

Still, she doesn’t know what team Cas is playing for, and that makes him dangerous. Her job _technically_ has nothing to do with Cas, which means he _technically_ isn’t her problem, but she’s supposed to be gaining the Winchesters’ trust, and Cas knows things about her. She isn’t sure just how much he knows, but it’s probably enough to kill their plans in the cradle.

If he’s working for the Winchesters… he probably should have revealed Ruby’s plans already—what good is it for him to keep her anywhere near the Winchesters? But he can’t really be working for Lilith either, can he? Dean Winchester was never supposed to rise from Hell. Lilith wanted him to stay right where he was, and Alastair loved him where he was. So why—if Cas is working for Lilith, there’s no way he would have pulled Dean out of Hell.

So maybe he’s struck out on his own. But he’d have to be freakin’ suicidal to do that, to take on Heaven and Hell at the same time without any backup. He’d have to be—

“I’ll be damned,” Ruby mutters.

He’d have to be a goddamned Winchester.

With that sort of a mentality, of course he’d be working for the Winchesters. But do they trust him? He’s lied to them—that’s never a good thing. She can play up that angle. Sam still trusts her tentatively, and Dean has some reluctant respect and gratitude toward her; she knows that Sam told him about how many times she saved his ass while Dean was still in Hell.

So what she needs to do is make sure that they think the worst of Castiel, as soon as possible, so that when he’s recovered and comes back to find them, they’ll try to turn him away.

Then the passenger door opens, and Sam leans in.

“Okay. I’m in,” he says, and _finally_ , they can get back on track.

“What changed your mind?” Ruby asks as Sam gets into the car, because that’s important. If he has doubts again, she’ll need some help to get him to come back to her.

“I don’t want to be doing this when I’m an old man,” is Sam’s response.

And well, it’s not really helpful, but it does tell Ruby that Sam doesn’t want to hunt to the death, not like Dean does. It’s not much, but it’s something, so she’ll take it.

“Let’s go, then.”

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_In the first few years, Castiel loves Hell. Demons come in all shapes and sizes, and all sorts of colors. It’s refreshing, after the relatively small spectrum of Heaven._

_Yet as time goes by, he realizes that the colors of Heaven, though fewer, were more vibrant, more_ alive _. He hadn’t cared much for the beings around him at the time, but he finds himself missing the sharp, cutting gold of Balthazar; the deep, unending sea-green of Raguel; the blazing scarlet of Azrael; and the warm, rich burgundy of Anael._

_The demons are dim and ugly in comparison. Even Lilith, Azazel, and Alastair do not come close._

_On occasion, Castiel catches Alastair watching him closely. The first few times, it surprises and baffles him—he has not done anything to earn undue attention. But Castiel soon realizes that he stands out among the dull souls of Hell, stands out like an overly-bright, shining beacon, and he cannot fault Alastair for looking._

_Nevertheless, Castiel is relieved when Lilith sends him out of Hell with his father, away from Alastair’s lingering eyes._

_On Earth, the other demons that had accompanied them disperse, but Castiel stays with his father. He knows why they have come—they are going to collect more humans for Alastair’s rack—but he finds himself distracted by the multitude of strange creatures visible to him. These souls are dimmer, trapped as they are within prisons of flesh and blood._

_But the colors are purer, safe from the black film that coats and pervades each demonic soul. Castiel has noted that the oldest demons—excluding the first three, of course—are so suffused with darkness that even he with his enhanced vision can hardly see their true colors anymore._

_He’s long since wondered why his own Grace shines so brightly, why the blackness of Hell doesn’t rub off on him. Maybe it’s because his wings are shading him from Hell’s effects, already so black that Hell’s darkness can’t be seen on them. Even now, encased in a vessel, his Grace seems to stand out a disproportionate amount, and it’s almost strange to him that he hasn’t blinded anyone yet._

_He follows his father through a few transactions, watches as humans barter away their souls for a variety of reasons, some nobler than others. One demands safety and food for the people of his village, and Castiel can respect that. Another demands revenge on a thief for stealing his sheep, and while Castiel thinks that it is wasteful to give up one’s soul for so petty a request, he understands that Azazel doesn’t care what the humans’ reasons are, only that he get as many as possible._

_A common request comes from parents wishing for their children to be saved from disease. Castiel doesn’t understand why that makes him ache inside._

_“How do you know which humans to approach?” he asks as they walk away from their latest acquisition._

_“They’re humans. They always have wants and needs. You can approach anyone,” Azazel replies easily._

_Castiel turns this thought over a few times while they walk through a town, slow enough for Azazel to look around and choose his next target. “Wouldn’t it be more effective if they called for you whenever they needed favors?” Castiel asks._

_Azazel shrugs. “That would take prep work. We cannot hear prayers, not like angels can. So those ignorant humans would need to work a summoning ritual.”_

_Castiel nods to accept the explanation, but he’s still thinking about how strange it must be to be approached out of the blue with an offer of help, in the way Azazel seems to favor._

_After the next soul has been bought with a promise to end a four-year-long drought, Castiel says, “You could provide humans with the necessary ritual. Those determined enough would find it, I’m sure.”_

_“Our numbers need more than just the very determined,” Azazel says._

_“I beg to differ. Alastair has plenty of souls to work on already—his apprentices are even hard-pressed to keep up with the influx of souls. Shouldn’t we slow down our acquisition?”_

_Azazel laughs. “You should try bringing that up with Lilith. See what she’ll say to that.”_

_“Do you allow her to dictate your actions, then?”_

_“No, of course not!” Azazel spits, as though the very idea is anathema to him. Yet here he is, on Lilith’s orders._

_Castiel resists the temptation to voice this thought to his father and says instead, “It wouldn’t have to be a restriction, just an option. Wouldn’t it be easier if the human already knew what he wanted and asked for it outright? It would save you time and effort.”_

_Azazel starts to answer but pauses, looking conflicted. “There are some things we haven’t told you,” he eventually says._

_“I’d guessed that much,” Castiel responds. “Keep your secrets if you must.”_

_“No,” Azazel says with a frown. “I trust you.”_

_“Then it is Lilith who wishes to withhold information from me.”_

_“Yes,” Azazel admits. “She worries that you are working for Anael.”_

_It is not unreasonable. Were he in Lilith’s position, Castiel is certain he would think the same thing. “What do you think?” he asks._

_“I believe… I believe that you are my son.”_

_“I am Anael’s son as well,” Castiel points out, trying to understand._

_“But you didn’t choose Anael. You received your name when you saw me. You are_ my _son, first and foremost, and any other claims laid upon you are secondary to that,” Azazel states firmly, and for a moment, there’s a strange look in Azazel’s eyes, a quality that reminds Castiel of the way Alastair looks at him._

_But it’s gone in a flash, and Castiel tells himself that it must have been his imagination._

_Then Azazel says, quietly, “We’ve forgotten most of the runes and sigils that we once innately knew. That’s the real reason why we haven’t released any summoning rituals.”_

_“Ah,” Castiel says. “You could have just asked.”_

_Azazel looks surprised. “I was so sure you wouldn’t be born with that knowledge.”_

_“Well, you were wrong.”_

_“Clearly,” Azazel says, thoughtful._

_They move on to the next village then, and Azazel leads the way to the dwelling of the leader, both of them invisible to the eyes of men._

_“I want you to talk to this one,” Azazel says._

_Castiel nods and manifests himself before knocking on the thin door. He’s seen Azazel speak with a few humans before, and he thinks he knows what to do._

_The chief pulls open the door and looks at Castiel skeptically. “Who are you?”_

_“Someone who can help,” Castiel says._

_He expects to need to say more, but the man only steps back, gesturing for him to enter. Hiding his surprise, Castiel walks into the small hut. It is sparsely decorated, with a few woven baskets along the wall and a thatched mat to sleep on._

_When Castiel turns around, he sees the chief staring intently at him, and why is it that he seems to have this effect on humans, too? Can they somehow sense that he is not like the others? He returns the stare until the chief has to look away._

_“Why are you here?” the chief asks. “Why would you think I need help?”_

_“Everyone needs help. Some people just don’t know they need it yet,” Castiel says, feeding him a line that he’s seen Azazel use. “After all,” he tacks on, “I offered help, and you allowed me to enter.”_

_The chief grunts at that, then moves to sit on a crudely fashioned chair. “What sort of help are you offering?”_

_“Any.”_

_The human raises an eyebrow at Castiel’s response. “Any,” he repeats doubtfully._

_Castiel nods, looking closely at the chief. If he concentrates hard enough, he can get a sense of what the human is thinking, and a name quickly rises to the forefront. “Aria,” Castiel says, and the chief’s eyes tighten._

_“How do you know that name?”_

_“I know a lot of things,” Castiel says._

_“Okay, then you must know what I want,” the chief says quietly._

_“I can bring her back for you,” Castiel offers._

_“What do you want from me in return?”_

_“Nothing yet,” Castiel replies, and the chief looks at him suspiciously. “But in ten years, I’ll come back and take something from you.”_

_“Will you kill me?”_

_“I suppose I’ll have to, yes.”_

_The chief’s eyes widen, and he looks at the ground. “But—but the time in between. The ten years. You won’t come during those ten years, not once?”_

_“Not once,” Castiel confirms. “You’ll have ten nice, long years to spend with your daughter, find her a nice husband to take care of her when you’re gone. So, what do you think?”_

_“I’ll—yes. I’ll do it,” the chief says._

_Castiel smiles and leans down, and though the chief stiffens, he doesn’t back away. “Shh,” Castiel whispers when it appears the human is going to speak. The silence prevails, and Castiel presses a kiss to the man’s lips, prints the contract invisibly and indelibly into his skin._

_When Castiel backs up, the man is breathing deeply, staring up at him in wonder._

_“What—what are you?”_

_Castiel lets one edge of his mouth quirk upward. “Your deliverance.”_

_And then he folds himself into the other plane, where his father is waiting._

_“Very good,” Azazel says, surprise evident in his voice. “I hadn’t expected honesty to work so well—it hasn’t worked in most cases, in the past.” After a pause, he says, “There’s something about you. Perhaps it is your Grace. Even the human felt it.”_

_Castiel doesn’t reply—he doesn’t know what his father is talking about, and he doesn’t really care. “We should fetch the man’s daughter now, shouldn’t we?”_

_“Yes, of course. You made the deal—you should have the power to retrieve her soul from Heaven and remake her body.”_

_“I don’t know how,” Castiel admits._

_“Draw on the strength lent to you by the chief’s deal. It will allow you to bring her to Earth,” Azazel says._

_It sounds like useless advice, but when Castiel closes his eyes and tries to concentrate, he can feel the tug of the man’s soul—it is tethered to him by their contract, and when Castiel pulls, he can siphon power from it. He looks at Azazel, and his father nods in approval._

_“I will return with the girl, then,” Castiel says._

_“Yes. I will be waiting for you here.”_

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_You’re too weak to go after her, Dean._

_I’m a better hunter than you are._

_You’re not standing in my way anymore._

_I’m a better hunter than you are—stronger, smarter._

_You’re holding me back._

_You’re too weak to go after her._

_You’re too busy sitting around feeling sorry for yourself._

_You’re too weak, Dean._

_Too weak._

Dean takes another swig and looks to his right, at the vacant bed beside his. He would be worried, except that he knows exactly where Sam is, was awake when Sam crawled out of bed and crept out of the motel room. He knows that Sam is working with Ruby, that they’re chasing Lilith down together. He knows that Ruby’s the one Sam is on the phone with whenever he thinks Dean’s asleep, or too far away to hear. But Dean hasn’t slept much since he got back from Hell, and to be honest, he didn’t sleep all that much before Hell, anyway. He’s caught snippets of conversation, things about omens and disappearances and other seals, and he just can’t anymore.

Tonight, Dean had almost followed him, maybe to stop him, or maybe just to see what was going on, but he couldn’t—he just couldn’t. He can’t anymore. Not now. Not with the echoes of Sam’s words bouncing around inside his skull.

Sure, Sam said it was just the siren’s spell talking, but Dean knows that the things that had come out of his own mouth had been on his mind for a long time—he _doesn’t_ know if he can trust Sam anymore. It _doesn’t_ feel like they have each other’s backs. And it’s _killing_ him, but it seems like Sam doesn’t even fucking care anymore.

And no matter what Sam says about Ruby having saved his life, having stepped in when he needed it most, Dean can only see manipulation. Dean’s got no proof, none at all, and on the surface it seems like they owe her a lot, but he just _knows_ that they’re not getting the whole picture with her.

Maybe she really saved Sam’s life a few times, but Sam was weak, vulnerable. That would have been the best time for that demon bitch to worm her way in and gain his trust, and it seems like that is exactly what she’s done. And now she’s standing between them, and fuck, Sam’s choosing her. Over and over again, he’s choosing a demon over his own brother.

Dean goes to take another drink from the bottle and finds that it’s empty. Sighing, he puts it down on the nightstand and leans his head back against the headboard, closing his eyes.

Inexplicably, he thinks of Cas, the lying little shit. Is he okay?

After Anna went up in a burst of literally blinding light, Uriel had made a few nasty comments, and then the two angels had winged off, supposedly to go find her. Sam and Dean haven’t heard from her since, but Dean isn’t exactly surprised. After all, he was the one who turned her in.

But Dean hasn’t heard from Cas either, and he finds that he’s worried despite himself. After all, Anna had admitted that she didn’t know what the banishing sigil would do to a hybrid. She hadn’t looked so worried, but Dean can’t help it. Sure, Cas lied to him, but he got Dean out of Hell, damn it, and he’s saved Dean a few times since, so he can’t be working for Lilith. He just can’t.

Besides, he remembers the look on Alastair’s face when Castiel popped up in front of Dean. He knows Alastair, and he knows that that was anger—pure, unadulterated anger, not an act. Dean would know. He’s sure of it.

He remembers the quiet exchange they had the day after Halloween, watching a few kids play in a playground. He remembers the unfiltered worry in Cas’s eyes when he’d stopped Dean in the crypt. He remembers his first impression of Cas, of this guy with windswept hair and big, blue eyes, and damn it, why couldn’t Cas have just told him the truth from the beginning?

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose to stave off an oncoming headache, eyes squeezed shut in discomfort.

He needs to stop Sam, that much he knows. He needs to find a way to get him to stop listening to Ruby, to work with Dean again. The only way they’re gonna get through this is if they work together, because they’re stronger as a team.

But how the hell is Dean gonna get Sam to believe that when he hardly even believes it himself, anymore?

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Castiel is certain that he’s safe, certain that he’s fallen far enough off the map that no angel or demon or other supernatural entity could ever find him.

Yet he only has about two seconds warning before an angel lands behind him, and it’s too late for him to take off—it’d be too easy for them to catch up—so instead he spins around, blade in hand, prepared for his attacker.

And then he stops, blinks.

“Anna Milton,” he murmurs. “You’re—not human.”

“No,” she says with a small smile. “No, I’m not.”

Castiel frowns, wary. “You fell and… became human.” Anna nods, and Castiel asks, “How?”

“By ripping out my Grace,” she answers.

Castiel feels his own Grace quiver with unease at this—the mere idea of losing Grace is awful enough. To have to rip it out himself… Castiel is certain he wouldn’t be able to do it. So he asks next, “Why?”

Her smile turns a little sad as she replies, “To find you.” Before Castiel can say anything, Anna continues, “Do you—do you not recognize me?”

“But I do recognize you. You’re Anna Milton—I saved your ass from Alastair. And might I add, if you try to attack me while I’m down after I did that for you, it’ll be a new low, even for you angels.”

“I’m not here to fight you, Castiel.”

“Yet you’ve had your blade at the ready for the entirety of this conversation.”

Anna stiffens at this, solemn, and then sighs. “You’ve had your blade drawn, Castiel. I couldn’t just stand before you defenseless, could I?”

“You have a point,” Castiel says, but he doesn’t put away his weapon. “So you fell to look for me. Why would you do that? Why not just look for me as an angel?”

“It wasn’t allowed,” Anna says. “I had no other choice.”

“So you chose to fall rather than remain in Heaven? That’s ridiculous,” Castiel says.

“You don’t believe me. You don’t…” Anna shakes her head and turns away, and Castiel sees that she’s abandoned her blade entirely in favor of wringing her hands. In the other plane, Castiel can see her wings flexing in distress.

“I’m going to assume that we… that we have a history,” Castiel says.

Anna barks out a laugh, short and humorless. “Uriel was right,” she says, shaking her head again. “He was—he was right. You don’t remember me at all, do you?” When Castiel says nothing, Anna steps closer, and Castiel tightens his grip on his blade instinctively. “Look at me,” Anna says furiously. “ _Really_ look at me, Castiel. Look into my Grace. I am Anael.”

Castiel rears back at this, because although he hardly remembers anything from his short years in Heaven, he does remember Anael. He remembers the angel that didn’t want him, the father that wanted rid of him, was pleased when he disappeared with Alastair.

“Castiel,” Anna says in a small voice, and he sees a pained look on the vessel’s face. “Are you—are you afraid of me? Angry with me? What is it?”

“You didn’t want me,” Castiel says in a low voice.

“ _What?_ ”

“You didn’t want me, so you let Alastair take me away. A demon couldn’t escape from Heaven without someone to ease his way. So you—”

“No, Castiel. I never—I’ve always wanted you. Always loved you. I fell because I couldn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not the one lying to you! Azazel is!”

Castiel glares at Anna—Anael. “My father wouldn’t have lied to me.”

“Yes, he—” Anna pauses midsentence and says, “Why are you talking about him in the past tense? Is he—is he dead?”

Castiel feels the same old flare of guilt, just as strong as it always was, and tamps it down as best he can. “He’s dead. Has been for some time now.”

“Oh,” Anna says. “I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I didn’t expect you to.”

“Castiel, you must believe me. Let me—let me show you the truth. Azazel lied to you because he needed to keep you from coming back to me. He knew that if you wanted—if you wanted to come back—”

“I don’t want to hear your lies.”

“I’m not lying. I’m standing right here before you, aren’t I? You saw me when I was human, and you’re looking at me right now. I’m not lying,” Anna says firmly.

Castiel maintains his hold on his blade and steps closer to Anna. “Fine. Show me. But if you try anything, I’ll kill you.”

After a pause, Anna holds up her hand and slowly presses her fingertips to Castiel’s forehead. He feels a light pull, and then he’s drawn into the memories, into a whirlwind of emotion—fury and violation, fear and worry, pain and struggle, tenderness and love, and finally overwhelming loss and longing.

He draws back, mind reeling from the surprising strength of these borrowed emotions, and Anna looks at him sadly.

“That is the most I can do. If you still don’t believe me, then—”

“I believe you,” Castiel says. “The demons—they never told me the whole truth. Not about their intentions for John Winchester, or Dean Winchester. It stands to reason that they wouldn’t have told me the truth about this either.”

Even as he says this, he feels a pang in his chest, because he was with his father for centuries. Millennia. And the demon was lying to him the entire time. He firmly believes that Azazel loved him, as much as a demon could love anyone. He knows that demons lie, that that is in their nature, but he’d naively thought that Azazel’s love would have kept him honest. Foolish. _Childish_.

“Thank you,” Anna says, features soft, and she comes closer, reaches out for Castiel.

He starts to back away but stops himself, letting Anna wrap her arms around him.

“I’ve missed you so much, my child,” she murmurs.

Castiel doesn’t respond. He cannot honestly say that he missed her, because he’d thought the worst of her after what Azazel told him.

“I am sorry that I banished you,” Anna says. “I can speed up the healing process for you, if you’d like.”

“I’ve already recovered sufficiently, but thank you.”

“But you said—”

Castiel spreads his wings to show that they’re healthy and says with a small smile, “Oops, I lied. Half-demon, remember?”

“Of course,” Anna says. “Now, about the Winchesters. Are you aware that they’re being circled by—”

“I’m aware,” Castiel answers. “I am not worried. The pagan goddess, whichever she is, is not targeting the Winchesters. She’s after me.”

But instead of looking relieved, Anna seems even more worried. “She isn’t just any pagan goddess, Castiel. The creature that’s after you is Lachesis.”

After a pause, Castiel says, “The—the Fate. You mean to say that one of the Fates has come for me.”

“Yes.”

Castiel lets out a long sigh, because this is bad news—awful news. He has never met any of the Fates before, but that is a good thing. Meeting the Fates is a sign that something has gone wrong, and it has to do with your fate, and your life.

“There is no way to kill a Fate,” Anna says softly, “just as there is no way to kill Father Time himself. Castiel, I am not sure when or where this happened, but you must have done something drastic enough that the Fates need to compensate for it, balance it out.”

“Then that’s it, though, isn’t it? They’ll balance things out, and that’s all,” Castiel says.

“No,” Anna says, shaking her head. “There are repercussions to this kind of action. If the Fates want to restore the natural order to the universe, they need to kill the transgressor that caused the problem. You.”

“But I—was it Dean? Was he not supposed to rise?”

“I don’t know,” Anna says. “I’ve been separate from Heaven for a long time, but I know the story as well as anyone, and I do know that the Righteous Man must rise. That should not be the problem.”

Castiel is silent for a long moment, going back through his actions for the past few months.

“It could have been anything,” Anna says. “Castiel, I…” her voice falters, and Castiel looks at her, surprised, waiting for her to continue. “I’m so sorry.”

“No need,” Castiel says, frowning. “I know now that you couldn’t have simply let Alastair take me.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. I spoke with Lachesis, before. Years, centuries, millennia ago. It was…” Anna pauses and sighs. “It was too long ago. But she warned me about you, told me that I had to find you and keep my eye on you, because your choices were crucial to the world.” Anna lowers her eyes. “I am so sorry that I did not find you in time, my child.”

“I’m not that worried,” Castiel replies. “I don’t mind staying on the run. I’ve been able to outrun her in the past, and I’ll only get stronger with more practice. I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t understand. If Lachesis doesn’t catch you, they will eventually have to send Atropos. And there is no escaping her.”

Castiel shrugs. “I’ll deal with that when the time comes. It’ll be a while yet, won’t it?”

“You should be taking this a lot more seriously than you are.”

“I’m taking it very seriously,” Castiel says. “I’ve just got more important things on my mind.”

“More important than your own life?”

“We all have to die eventually, don’t we? I’ll just put it off until then.”

“Atropos can—”

“I know, she holds the scissors. She can cut my fate short, whatever that’s supposed to mean. I’ve already defied fate ‘til now, haven’t I? I’ll just defy it a while longer,” Castiel says.

“For Dean Winchester,” Anna says, voice flat.

Castiel considers denying it, but it’d be pointless—he has no other plausible motive, no other cause to serve. “Yes,” he says, meeting Anna’s gaze dead-on.

“Why?” she asks, shaking her head. “What is so special about him to you? You were not supposed to be the one to raise him. Of course, the end result was the same, and Dean was raised, but you… why did you do it?”

“Because he asked nicely,” Castiel says sarcastically.

“I’m being serious, Castiel. I’m not judging you. I just want to know why.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

“What were you thinking when you decided to free him?” Anna asks.

Castiel closes his eyes. “I did it because I had the opening, okay?” he answers. “Because it looked like the angels might be stopped before they reached him, and I—”

Castiel clenches his jaw, remembering. He had hated Dean, hated how beautiful his soul was, hated that he was the one to kill Azazel, but even more than that—Castiel stops there, choked up by confused feelings of guilt and anger, and he really doesn’t need to go poking at that right now.

“Castiel?”

He draws a deep breath and exhales, long and slow. And then he says, “I had never seen a soul that was so pure a shade of blue, so similar to my own Grace. I looked at him and saw a reflection of myself. I couldn’t stand by and watch the darkness enter his soul, not when I had the power to stop it.”

It’s not the whole truth, but it’s close enough.

“Okay,” Anna says. “Okay. I’ll help you, then.”

If Castiel were prouder, he would refuse that help. But he knows he needs it, so he remains silent.

“What do you intend to do next?” Anna prods after a moment.

“Inias needs help,” Castiel says quietly. “If you’ve regained your Grace, you must have felt the absence of many of the angels.”

Anna looks at him, interested. “So you feel it, too. The pain when a brother is killed.”

“Yes.”

“You are more like us than I’d hoped, then. I’d thought that after so long in the pit…” Anna lets that thought fade away with her voice and says instead, “But I was wrong, and I am grateful for that. Please continue.”

“Since you only recently regained your Grace, you probably can’t tell, but a good number of those deaths happened within the last few months, most of them after Dean’s rise.”

“Our brethren have been fighting to save the seals,” Anna says.

“Regardless, without the proper equipment to kill angels, demons can only send them back to Heaven, and there should not be as high a death count as there is.”

“The demons may have discovered another way to—”

Castiel shakes his head. “The demons’ knowledge of angels and Enochian sigils comes from here,” he says, tapping his temple. “I’ve told them nothing about alternative methods of killing angels. Besides, I only know of the Colt. And Death’s scythe.”

“So could they have gotten a hold of Death’s scythe?”

“Highly unlikely,” Castiel replies. “I happen to know where it is.”

“What—how?”

“Just trust me. It is not in Alastair or Lilith’s hands.”

“Okay, and the Colt?”

“It is in the same place as Death’s scythe. Don’t worry—they won’t fall into the wrong hands. Not without a price, at least.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The person who is in possession of them… you could call him a businessman,” Castiel answers.

“Castiel, I don’t think—”

“We’re straying from the important topic,” Castiel interrupts. “I wanted to tell you that the deaths are not being caused by either of those two objects.”

“What are you suggesting? That there is a traitor in Heaven?”

“Exactly. And I know who he is.”

“How?”

“Some things are clearer from the outside,” Castiel answers. When Anna just shoots him a disbelieving look, he admits, “I may have watched from a distance as he killed a fellow angel, a long time ago.”

“Who is it?”

“Uriel.”

Anna looks pained. “And you’re certain it was him? You couldn’t have made a mistake?”

“Yes.” After a pause, Castiel adds, “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s—it’s all right,” she says. “Do you have a plan to take care of him, then?”

“Not yet. I haven’t had much of a plan at all, to be honest. I’ve been playing by ear,” Castiel says.

“Well, I’m stronger than Inias and Uriel combined, so when the time comes, I will be able to take care of Uriel and speak to Inias for you.”

“Are you sure? You just got your Grace back, so you’re probably rusty.”

Anna draws her blade. “Would you like to test me, then?”

Castiel grins. “Bring it.”

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_Castiel is perfectly happy with his situation, most of the time._

_He loves Earth, loves roaming the land and watching as things change, as humans learn more and somehow still remain so ignorant of all the creatures that surround them. It takes time, but eventually a new breed of human arises, a small group that_ is _aware of its surroundings, the members of which call themselves hunters—hunters of the supernatural._

_Castiel thinks little of them at first, because they have no idea what they are dealing with. But they prove resilient, able to gather information about the creatures that go bump in the night, and eventually Castiel does hold some respect for the species._

_As for his job… he loves it, primarily because it comes so easily to him. People seem attracted to him automatically—he hardly has to exert any effort to pull them to him. It’s so easy to get them contracted and designated for Hell, for Alastair’s blade._

_But contrary to his feelings for being topside, Castiel dislikes being rotated back to working with Alastair._

_He hates the heat of Hell, hates the never-ending screams, the blood-saturated stink of it. He hates how there’s so much blood that the light is tinted red with it. And as much as he enjoys capturing people, he doesn’t like watching the transformation that is wrought upon their souls, the transformation from beautiful little lights into these hideous, misshapen things._

_Humans are like the Mona Lisa of God, and Alastair is leading the demons—and Castiel—in flinging shit all over her face._

_But Azazel says that it is for a reason, a good reason, that they’re all trying to free their father. And Castiel can understand that, of course. He has his own father in Azazel, after all. Recently Azazel has been attempting to convince Castiel that Lucifer is his true father, but Castiel knows his parents, knows that Lucifer had no hand in creating him, no matter how much he supposedly looks like the fallen angel._

_Adding to Castiel’s dislike of his time in Hell is the way that Alastair looks at him whenever he’s nearby. He doesn’t try hard to keep it secret that he wants Castiel. For what Castiel has no idea, but he does not intend to find out._

_Alastair is always talking about masterpieces, about creating the “perfect demon,” and he says that his own masterpiece may have been Meg. He dotes on her like a daughter, showing her more respect than he does his other creations. Castiel heard some time ago that she was the first successful demon created from a human soul. He has made no serious attempt to befriend her, nor has she gone out of her way to speak with him._

_In any case, Castiel doesn’t think he understands what Alastair means when he says that Castiel should find the perfect material for his own masterpiece until one day in the late 1600s, when he happens upon a man named Fergus MacLeod._

_Castiel isn’t sure what it is about the man, but something is different, something that tells him he needs to take this soul. It is surprisingly easy for Castiel to convince him to sell his soul, and after the transaction, Castiel leaves for Hell far more pleased than is normal._

_When MacLeod’s deal is up, ten Earth-years later, Castiel petitions Alastair to allow him to work on this particular soul. Delighted by Castiel’s enthusiasm, Alastair grants the request and hands MacLeod over to him._

_MacLeod has surprisingly high tolerance for pain, and it takes a substantial length of time for Castiel to mold him properly—Castiel finds himself strangely fond of the soul, certain that it will do well working as a crossroads demon. There’s a quality to it, nothing to do with its shade of dark red, nothing to do with its propensity to spit foul language at him when it’s in excruciating pain._

_Castiel isn’t quite sure what it is that makes this soul special, but by the time he finishes working with MacLeod and emerges triumphant with a new demon who calls himself Crowley, he thinks he understands Alastair’s idea of a masterpiece._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Dean is positive he’s about to be dragged right back to Hell and put through—well, _Hell_ —for foiling Alastair and saving Tessa, but he is bewildered when a strange bolt of lightning strikes the demon, making him disappear—“What the hell?” Dean says, and from behind him comes a familiar voice—

“Not quite.”

Dean turns and sees Inias standing behind him. “What the hell just happened?” he demands.

“What just happened?” Inias repeats. “You and Sam just saved a seal. We captured Alastair. Dean, this was a victory.”

“Well, no thanks to you,” Dean says, taking a step back to put some space between them. He’s still sore about what Inias did to Cas.

“What makes you say that?” Inias asks, curious.

“You were here the whole time?”

“Enough of it,” Inias replies, and Dean’s furious because maybe Cas didn’t help out in the beginning, but he came when Dean needed him on Halloween, and when they were gonna be taken by Alastair in the church—hell, he even stood up to two angels for Dean.

“Well, thanks for your help with the rock salt,” Dean says, because by now he’s sure that Cas would have done _something_.

“That script on the funeral home—we couldn’t penetrate it,” Inias says, and at least his gaze is lowered and he looks like he feels a little guilty.

“That was angel-proofing,” Dean realizes.

“Why do you think I recruited you and Sam in the first place?” Inias says, looking at Dean.

“ _You_ recruited us?”

“That wasn’t your friend Bobby who called, Dean. It wasn’t Bobby who told Sam about the seal.”

“That was you?” Dean asks. Inias lowers his gaze again, and Dean says, “If you want our help, why the hell didn’t you just ask?”

Inias sighs. “You were angry with me about Castiel—still are, I’m sure. I did not think you would have chosen to help me, had I asked you outright.”

Dean hates that Inias is right, so he switches topics. “Speaking of Cas, why didn’t you tell me what he was earlier, instead of pretending he was an angel, hmm? It’s really friggin’ sketchy.”

“He had you believing that he was one of us,” Inias says tiredly. “You clearly believed him more than you did us. Would you have taken our word if we’d said in our first meeting that Castiel wasn’t all that he seemed to be?”

And again, Inias is right. Dean remembers the circumstances for their first meeting, and he knows for sure that he would have chosen to believe Cas over Inias and Uriel.

“Have you uh,” he pauses to clear his throat before starting over, “Have you seen him since you guys were all banished?”

Inias shakes his head. “He is very skilled at cloaking himself from our sight. In fact, he’s done the same for you. He has made it exceptionally difficult to find you, Dean, and I wish I could give you a good reason why, but I can only think that he wishes our cause to fail.”

“Or maybe he wants to protect me from you yahoos.”

“Maybe,” Inias concedes with a nod. “But you are standing right beside me now, and he is doing nothing to prevent it. And I am doing nothing to hurt you, isn’t that right?”

“Don’t try to logic me, okay? I don’t care what you say—Cas isn’t working for Lilith.”

“It appears you’ve made up your mind,” Inias says, almost regretfully.

“About Cas? Yeah, I have. And unless you have any actual proof to show that he’s working for Lilith, you’re not going to change my mind. You say that you’re angels, so I’m guessing you’re the guys who are working to stop the apocalypse. And if Cas was masquerading as one of you, I’m guessing you’re also the guys who have work for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then where the hell have you been? Because whenever I’ve gotten into trouble, Cas has been the one to get me out of it. And you, and your partner? What have you done for me? For Sam?” Inias looks away, and Dean says, “Yeah, that’s right. You’ve got nothing. You’ve _done_ nothing.”

“I can see now that no more good will come of this conversation. Goodbye for now, Dean.”

Just like that, the fucker flaps off, and Dean groans. “Oh, _come on!_ ” he shouts at the sky, but of course there’s no response.

And then from beside him, he hears Tessa’s voice. “Dean? I could use your help.”

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_Have patience, Lachesis told Anael. Patience is a quality that angels are supposed to have, sure, but Anael finds it difficult to wait patiently while he knows his child is in Alastair’s hands. And by now, he’s certain that he will have fallen into the hands of Lilith and Azazel, and he knows their cruelty firsthand. What will they do to his poor child?_

_“You shouldn’t be so eager to see him again.”_

_Anael turns to see Uriel approaching. All angels are brethren, of course, but some are closer to each other than others. Aside from Azrael and Raguel, Anael is closest to Uriel, Ariel, and Barachiel—and more recently, Balthazar, the young angel who shares his devotion for Anael’s child._

_Anael looks away again. “Of course you would say that. You wanted him destroyed.”_

_“Only for the good of all of us,” Uriel responds. “He is part demon, Anael. You cannot try to tame him and keep him here, where he could hurt us.”_

_“Stop it,” Anael says. “If you continue in this vein, I would rather not speak with you at all.”_

_“You would renounce our years of friendship over this… this half-demon?” Uriel asks, and Anael is surprised to hear that his brother actually sounds hurt._

_“That half-demon is my son,” Anael responds. “So yes, I would.”_

_After a pause, Uriel says, “Well, then, I have little else to say. I only came to tell you that he has been sighted on Earth—”_

_Anael spins around, alarmed. “He—he has?”_

_“—in the company of Azazel,” Uriel finishes._

_“Well, of course. He’s been in Hell, so his only chance of returning to the surface would be in the company of a demon who could hopefully handle his strength,” Anael reasons. “I must go to him at once. I must—”_

_“You’ll do no such thing,” Uriel says._

_Anael stares at Uriel. “You cannot tell me what to do—do not forget that between the two of us, I am still the superior.”_

_“Raphael has already decreed that none of us, especially you, is permitted to go to the hybrid,” Uriel says impassively, “so no matter how much you try to pull rank, you won’t be allowed to leave Heaven.”_

_The words cut through Anael. He cannot defy Raphael without severe repercussions._

_“Hester was the one who saw him. He was contracting a soul, buying it for Hell,” Uriel continues matter-of-factly. “He calls himself Castiel, now. So it appears he chose Azazel as his father, rather than you. I advise you to give up this dream of reuniting with him sooner rather than later, for it will inevitably end in disappointment.”_

_“Leave me.”_

_“Anael—”_

_“Leave. Now,” Anael says forcefully._

_Uriel only hesitates a moment before following the order and taking flight. Anael instantly starts to think about ways to circumvent Raphael’s command, excuses for him to leave Heaven._

_Mere minutes after Uriel’s departure, Azrael and Raguel arrive. They attempt to convince Anael to do nothing, but Anael cannot be persuaded. He must find his son, must take care of him. After all, Lachesis said that his son would find him on Earth, did he not?_

_“I must fall,” Anael murmurs later, after Azrael has already given up and departed—Raguel remains, unfailingly loyal as always._

_“No,” Raguel says immediately._

_“I have no other option. They would punish me with death if I left Heaven against orders to stay put.”_

_“How is falling any better than dying?” Raguel says._

_“If I fall, I will be reborn on Earth, won’t I?” Anael says._

_“Theoretically, yes. Do you really wish to test that theory?”_

_“If it will get me to Earth, then yes. I must find my son. I must find Castiel and take care of him.” Raguel doesn’t understand, Anael reminds himself. He hasn’t shared the words of Lachesis with anyone because a fate foretold is a dangerous thing and should not be repeated lightly._

_“If you are set on this course of action, then there is only one thing I have left to do.”_

_“Please, brother, do not try to stop me,” Anael says._

_“I will not,” Raguel replies. “I will harvest your Grace from its source and mark your soul when you are first conceived so that when you die, the reapers will allow you to be reborn into the human world. You will be able to live infinite lifetimes until you are truly ready to die and return to Heaven—that is, when you find Castiel. When that day comes, all you need to do is pray to me, and I will come for you.”_

_“Are you certain? You could be punished for this,” Anael says._

_“For you, brother, there is little I would not do.”_

_Anael smiles. “Thank you.”_

_Three days later, Anael falls._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Sam wishes the angels had just taken him to Alastair, too—he knows that Dean’s weak now, that he needs protecting, and Sam doesn’t trust Uriel and Inias as far as he can throw them. As it is, he watches as the flames lick their way across a map, going out at Ruby’s command. And he guesses that maybe it’s a good thing they left him behind, because he does need to… to recharge, for lack of a better word.

“There,” Ruby says, and Sam sees that there’s only a small circle in the middle that is still pristine. “Your brother’s there. It’s a good thing angels aren’t concerned with hiding their dirty business. Not used to being spied on. I mean, who’d be stupid enough to try?”

“Ruby, it’s been weeks,” Sam says, looking over at her. “I need it.”

“You don’t seem too happy about it.”

“You think I wanna do this? This is the last thing I—” He stops himself and sits down on the bed, wondering what the hell Ruby expects. This isn’t something that’s going to make him better. His blood is _dirty_ , contaminated by Azazel’s blood, but if he can help people using that contamination, he’ll do it. “But I need to be strong enough,” Sam says.

Ruby moves closer and straddles his lap. “It’s okay,” she says. “It’s okay, Sammy. You can have it.”

She leans down and kisses him, and Sam thinks he can feel the blood rushing through her veins even in that brief bit of contact. And then Ruby is cutting her arm open, and Sam hones in on the source, suddenly hungry for it. He tries to deny it as much as possible, but it feels so good, so fucking good to be drinking this down, taking another hit.

“It’s okay, Sam,” he hears Ruby say above his head, and her fingers thread through his hair.

He resists the urge to arch into the touch and just sucks harder.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Anna lands behind Inias, who is watching Dean at work.

“Anael,” Inias says, turning to look at her.

“Please, brother. Anael was an obedient angel who answered to his superiors. I answer to no one.”

Inias frowns, looking her up and down. “Your human body—”

“It was destroyed, I know. But I guess I’m sentimental,” Anna responds. “Called in some old favors, and…” she lets her voice fade.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Inias says after a moment. “We still have orders to kill you.”

“Somehow, I don’t think you’ll try. Where is Uriel?”

“He went to receive revelation.”

“Of course he did,” Anna says, wondering what Uriel could be doing now. “I have something to tell you.”

“Then tell me.”

“It is something important, something that should be discussed in a private place.”

“This is not private enough?” Inias asks.

Anna shakes her head. “No. Anyone could be listening, and the information I am about to give you is highly sensitive.”

“What is the source?”

“You know that I was able to hear the angels speaking while I was still human, don’t you? Aren’t you curious as to what exactly I heard?” Anna asks. She isn’t sure this will work, but she’s hoping that Inias’s curiosity will win out, because she needs to lure him away in order for Castiel to be able to come in and take Dean away.

“Perhaps I should ask Uriel to come back and take my place, then,” Inias says.

“No,” Anna says. “No, this concerns him, and I would rather not draw his attention to the two of us in any way, if at all possible.”

Inias looks suspicious now, but he’s also very interested, so when Anna turns her back on him and spreads her wings, she hears his wings shifting in response. She takes flight, and he follows. Now she just has to ensure that her story is long and interesting, and believable.

The rest, the part concerning Dean, is up to Castiel, now.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

“You got a lot to learn, boy,” Alastair is saying to Dean when Castiel appears inside the room, and this is definitely not what he had expected to see—wasn’t Alastair supposed to be restrained while Dean did the torturing?

But he doesn’t have much time to process the situation or listen closely to whatever nonsense Alastair is spewing, because Alastair is about ready to choke Dean to death. Just as Castiel draws his blade, Alastair releases Dean, allowing him to fall to the floor in a heap, and spins around.

“Castiel,” he says with a smirk. “Can’t just run away this time, can you? Not with lover-boy stuck here where I can get to him.”

“I have strength enough to take you down,” Castiel says, spinning his blade around once and settling into a fighting stance.

“Oh, I’m certain you do, kiddo. I’m certain you do.”

Not wanting to waste any time—Dean seems to be suffering from internal bleeding, and the last thing Castiel wants is for him to bleed out while Alastair drags out a conversation—Castiel charges, blade first. Alastair dodges the blow and holds out a hand, using force of will to summon one of the crowbars from the rest of the torture implements.

“You won’t be able to kill me with that,” Castiel says.

“Oh Castiel, darling, you know I don’t want to kill you,” Alastair says, and Castiel can’t help but shudder at the lascivious note in his voice.

They exchange a few more blows, neither managing to land a direct strike, and spring apart again, circling each other. Castiel is sorely tempted to grab Dean and go, but he isn’t close enough, and he doesn’t want to jostle Dean too much with that sort of motion—moving at the speed that would be required to escape Alastair, it would be impossible to guarantee any sort of stability for Dean.

Castiel leaps forward, dealing one kill strike after another, but Alastair parries most of them and evades the rest, and Castiel backs off again, frustrated.

“I know your secret, you know,” Alastair says.

Castiel doesn’t deign to respond, choosing instead to turn his focus on another volley of attacks—he’d rather stay on the offensive and hopefully land a lucky blow, weakening Alastair.

“I know what you did, Castiel.”

And Castiel doesn’t like the sound of that, but he continues his frenzied attacks, feeling gratified when he manages to slash Alastair once across the arm, forcing him to jump back and give some ground.

“No soul could have gotten off that rack unassisted.”

Alastair already knows that Castiel took Dean—he was there when it happened, after all. So there can only be one thing that Alastair is talking about.

“I know how John Winchester escaped from Hell,” Alastair says, and follows this up with, “I know who truly caused Azazel’s death. _You killed your own father_.”

Guilt bursts to the surface of Castiel’s emotions like a geyser, and Alastair takes advantage of his resulting lack of coordination, disarming him handily. Castiel attempts to fly away, but Alastair barks several words in butchered—but unfortunately still effective—Enochian, and Castiel’s wings go on lockdown.

“Now, now, what have we here?” Alastair muses, and Castiel doesn’t have to look at his face to see the smug look on it. The demon grabs Castiel’s blade and shoves it deep into his shoulder—this is merely to cause pain, not to kill, and Castiel hates it.

Alastair pulls the blade back out, and Castiel clamps a hand over the wound, backing away as fast as he can even as the light of his Grace spills out, illuminating the room.

“Beautiful,” Alastair breathes, grasping Castiel by the good shoulder and throwing him against the rack that he’d been strung up on minutes ago. With two flicks of the wrist, chains wrap themselves around Castiel, burning into him.

It’s iron, Castiel realizes, and he’d never even known that iron was actually effective against him until this point.

Then Castiel feels agonizing pain from his middle, and it seems Alastair has shoved a serrated blade into his abdomen. It’s just a normal blade, made of regular steel, but it still hurts, and Castiel is not capable of healing himself that quickly. A second blade, identical to the first, is shoved in three inches to the left, and Castiel cries out.

“So. The Michael sword, eh?” Alastair says, looking down at Dean, who’s still lying prone near their feet. “Not too shabby. I wonder how he’d like the taste of demon blood, now that he’s flesh and blood.”

Alastair retrieves the discarded demon knife and squats in front of Dean, a wide grin on his face. He slides the blade across his arm, drawing up a fair amount of blood, and shifts closer to Dean, poised to feed the blood between his lips.

“No—stop,” Castiel chokes out. “Alastair, stop.”

The demon looks up at him, eyebrows raised. “Oh? And what are you going to do to stop me, hmm?”

“I’ll return to the Pit. I’ll stay there for eternity. Yours,” Castiel offers.

Alastair’s eyes widen at this. Castiel knows that Alastair’s wanted him for a long time, wanted to _own_ him, but Lilith wouldn’t allow it, not without Castiel’s submission, and Castiel would never submit anyway.

“What, for this human?” Alastair finally says, and Castiel lets his head hang, pained. Alastair grins. “Well then, I accept.”

Castiel feels a bit of relief, even as Alastair comes closer, because at least that means his focus is shifting away from Dean and toward Castiel instead.

But then Alastair pauses, looks back down at Dean again.

“Wait—what are you doing?” Castiel demands.

Alastair hoists Dean to his feet, and Dean starts coming to, groaning in pain as Alastair hauls him a few steps closer to where Castiel is strapped down, trapped. Castiel tries again in vain to free himself from the cross, but Alastair notices and slices into him with the demon knife, this time on the side of his neck.

Dean’s eyes are open, but they’re hazy, glassy, like he’s not really seeing what’s in front of him, and Castiel thinks he might be suffering from not only severe internal bleeding and probably shock, but also a concussion and most likely a few broken ribs.

A finger swipes through the cut on Castiel’s neck, and Castiel looks down, sees that Alastair’s finger is covered in his blood. Castiel realizes too late what Alastair’s about to do, but in all honesty, he couldn’t do anything to stop him, anyway.

“We already know that the blood of a demon is highly addictive,” Alastair says, thoughtful. “I wonder what the blood of a hybrid like you would do.”

“No!” Castiel barks, but Alastair’s shoving the blood-coated finger into Dean’s mouth. “We had a deal!”

“Well, I changed my mind. Besides, it’s not as though we sealed with a kiss, or anything,” Alastair says flippantly. “This will be so much more interesting.”

Alastair looks at Dean curiously then, and Castiel looks over to see that Dean’s grasping onto Alastair’s hand, sucking at the finger— _shit_.

“That’s enough,” Alastair says, pulling his finger away, and when Dean looks up, his eyes are laser-focused, sharp and clear, but crazed as well. They hone in on Castiel, roaming over his face briefly before seeing the cut on his neck, still bleeding freely, and Dean slumps forward, hands grasping at Castiel’s shoulders.

“Dean, _no_ ,” Castiel protests, but Dean’s tongue is dragging across the base of his neck now, licking along the trail of blood up to its source. His lips fasten around the cut, sucking hungrily, and Alastair is laughing now, the evil bastard.

Dean moans into Castiel’s neck and bites at the wound to keep the blood flowing, and Castiel wishes he could stop his vessel’s heart from pumping. But he can’t, and he feels himself getting dizzier as he loses blood, his vessel unable to replenish its blood supply fast enough to sate Dean’s newfound hunger.

“Mm,” Alastair hums, and Castiel hears the demon’s voice as though he’s far away. “It’s good, isn’t it, Dean? A bit of Heaven and Hell combined, right there. Tell me, what does the ultimate abomination taste like?”

Dean finally releases Castiel’s shoulders, backs up a step, and he’s fully supporting his own weight now, standing straight and tall, even though Castiel is sure that Alastair broke at least two of his ribs, and a normal human being would be doubled over, wheezing in pain. Dean wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and looks transfixed by the blood he rubs away.

“Dean,” Castiel manages, soft and fervent, and Dean looks up at him.

His eyes are wide, _glowing_ almost, and then Dean leans forward again, nuzzling into Castiel’s neck. He doesn’t bite this time, lapping over the wound gently, and it feels almost like an apology.

Castiel sees Alastair open his mouth in preparation to speak, but suddenly he seizes up, a pained look crossing his face, and then he’s thrown to the side, pressed against a wall.

“Who’s murdering the angels?” Sam demands, and Alastair struggles, but he is unable to free himself. Over Dean’s shoulder, Castiel is able to see Sam, holding one hand up and keeping Alastair in place. “How are they doing it?”

Castiel wants to answer, but he’s so fucking drained he doesn’t think he can move his mouth.

“You think I’m gonna tell you?” Alastair responds, and yes, that _is_ like him, pretending to know what he doesn’t. He always did like to play mind games.

“Yeah, I do,” Sam says. He twists his hand, and Alastair chokes. “How are the demons killing angels?”

“I—don’t—know,” Alastair gets out.

“Right,” Sam says, closing his hand and twisting.

“It’s—not—us. We’re not doing it!” Alastair insists, and wow, whatever Sam’s doing really _must_ hurt, because Alastair’s telling the truth now.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Lilith is not behind this,” Alastair says, smiling maniacally. “She wouldn’t kill seven angels. Oh, she’d kill a hundred, a thousand.” At that, Sam stops whatever it is he’s doing, and Alastair relaxes with a grin. “Oh, go ahead. Send me back, if you can.”

“I’m stronger than that, now,” Sam says. “Now I can kill.”

He raises his hand again, and Castiel watches in horror as gold light rises up within Alastair, his subdued Grace coming up to the surface. The demon screams, but it’s too late for him, and he falls to the ground, lifeless.

Sam stares down at the demon’s body for a moment, unblinking, and Castiel almost begins to wonder if he’s forgotten about Dean. But then Sam’s eyes flick back up to where Dean is, leaning into Castiel, and a shiver runs through the hybrid at the taint lingering in Sam’s soul, something demonic about it that should not be present in any living human.

“Let go of him,” Sam says.

Castiel opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a weak cough. Sam reaches them and pulls Dean away, and apparently Dean passed out against Castiel’s shoulder—he must not have noticed because all of his attention was elsewhere.

“Please,” Castiel manages.

“Please, what?” Sam answers, looking at Castiel closely.

“Don’t—” Castiel licks his lips and tries to swallow, but his throat is too dry, and this is the closest he’s ever come to feeling completely human, uncomfortable and out of control of his vessel. “Don’t leave me here,” he gets out, voice hoarse and quiet.

“I’ll come back for you, then. Let me just get Dean into the car,” Sam responds.

Castiel nods gratefully and closes his eyes.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

“It’s all just a set-up to make you trust him, Sam,” Ruby’s saying over the phone, but Sam looks into the panic room and sees the angel-demon hybrid slumped on the cot, almost more horizontal than vertical, and with the amount of power coursing through him, he knows could take that sack of bones any day.

“Don’t worry about me, Ruby. I’m gonna be fine.”

“Maybe you should come back here and meet up with me. I don’t trust—”

“We don’t need to meet up. Keep looking for Lilith.”

“You just killed Alastair, Sam. That’s a huge deal—something we haven’t tried before. We still don’t know what that’ll do to you, so I should—”

“I feel fine, Ruby. I feel great. Stop worrying.”

“I just think it’d be better if I could see you.”

Sam doesn’t respond at first, and then he says, “All right, fine. But if you want to see me, you’re gonna have to come to Bobby’s—I’m not driving out to meet you.”

After a pause, Ruby says, “Fine. I can be there by tomorrow.”

“I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah. Just don’t die.”

Sam smiles, because that’s about as romantic as Ruby gets, and says, “Yeah, you too.”

He hangs up and drops his phone back into his pocket, keeping an eye on the hybrid. Castiel had been aware of his surroundings for a short part of the nine-hour drive to Bobby’s, but he’d spent most of it sacked out in the backseat. Sam had had to carry him through the house and down into the basement.

A little while later, Sam shuts the door to the panic room and goes back upstairs.

Dean is set up on a couch in the living room, a rough blanket draped over him. He’s the same as he has been ever since Sam came to the rescue—unconscious. It’s worrying that he hasn’t woken up yet, especially because Sam can’t exactly tell what Alastair did to him.

Before getting Dean into the car, Sam had done his best to clean up the blood that was all over Dean’s skin and clothes, and he’d been relieved to find that most of it wasn’t Dean’s, but that leaves the question of what Alastair did to knock Dean out.

He hopes Dean doesn’t have a concussion.

“He hasn’t moved, hasn’t made a peep,” Bobby says from his seat at the desk, and Sam sighs.

“Yeah, I figured as much.”

“What the hell happened, boy?”

“The angels wanted Dean to torture Alastair. I still don’t really know what happened because I haven’t been able to get a word out of either of them yet.”

“That Castiel still hasn’t recovered?”

“Yeah. Alastair must’ve worked some pretty nasty mojo on him,” Sam guesses.

Then he hears a muffled bang from down below and exchanges glances with Bobby before heading for the stairs to the basement.

“You stay here, keep an eye on Dean,” Sam says.

“Be careful, son,” Bobby replies.

Sam reaches the basement and sees that nothing’s been disturbed. There’s another bang from within the panic room, and he walks over slowly, grabbing a crowbar on the way. He unlatches the door and pulls it open, weapon at the ready.

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel says, and he’s on the cot in the same place that he’d been before, except he’s sitting up straight now, awake and alert.

“How are you feeling?” Sam asks.

“Like doing a jig,” Castiel answers dryly. “I feel awful. What did you expect?”

“Don’t be a dick. I just saved your ass,” Sam says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Castiel says. “If you’re looking for a thank you, don’t. As far as I’m concerned, you just returned the favor for me getting you outta that church when Alastair had you cornered.”

“We didn’t need you—we could’ve gone out the window.”

“And you could have broken a leg or twisted an ankle in the process and been captured by Alastair anyway. We’re even,” Castiel says.

“Okay,” Sam says. “You well enough to fly yet?”

“No,” Castiel answers. “This room… it drains my strength. It’ll take at least… another three or four hours for my wings to heal enough for extended flight, if you keep the door closed.”

“And if it’s open, like it is now?” Sam asks.

“A minute or two,” Castiel replies.

Sam steps into the panic room and pulls the door closed, and Castiel looks down at the ground—it seems he feels the effects strongly. “I wasn’t sure the panic room would affect you at all, since Ruby’s knife didn’t do anything to you,” Sam says.

“Yes, my life has been one giant experiment, toeing the line between holy and unholy. It’s riveting,” Castiel says, rolling his eyes. “Where is Dean?”

Sam narrows his eyes, because Castiel’s tone was flippant until that last question about Dean, which actually came across as _worried_ , which—why the hell would he be worried about Dean when they’re at Bobby’s, one of the few places where they’re safe?

“He’s upstairs,” Sam answers. “What happened to him?”

“Alastair did a number on him,” Castiel replies.

“Where were Inias and Uriel? Weren’t they supposed to be keeping an eye on Dean?”

“I have no idea,” Castiel says. “They were gone when I arrived, and Alastair had gotten loose. I don’t know how that could have happened.”

“You don’t? You sure you didn’t release him?”

Castiel sighs. “Did it look like he and I were on the same side back there?”

“I don’t know,” Sam answers. “It could have been a set-up, to get me to trust you.”

Castiel smiles at this. “Yes, it could have been. But if it really were a set-up, which it wasn’t, do you really think I would admit it to you now?”

“I guess you wouldn’t.”

The hybrid says nothing more, shifting uncomfortably. He keeps moving his shoulders forward and then back, occasionally up and down, and Sam doesn’t understand what’s wrong with him.

“What are you doing?” Sam asks.

“Stretching. Alastair put a bind on my wings, and it’s very painful. It’ll take time for me to work them free. More time than it would ordinarily require, because the door is closed.”

Sam gets the hint but chooses to leave the door shut, unwilling to let Castiel off that easily. “Why are you helping us? What do you have to gain if we win?” When Castiel only shrugs, Sam says, “Whose side are you really on? I need to know.”

“Why are you interrogating me?” Castiel asks, curious. “You’ve already chosen to give me the benefit of the doubt, at least until Dean wakes, but you won’t trust anything I say as the truth, anyway. What is the point of questioning me when you don’t believe my answers?”

“How do you know I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt?” Sam asks, frowning.

“Bobby suggested that you put me in chains, didn’t he? Yet I’m here, not a spot of iron on me, and—”

“Wait—were you _awake?_ ” Sam demands.

“Only for a short while,” Castiel replies. “I was jostled awake when you removed me from the car.”

“Oh,” Sam says. Then he says, “Look, I’m the one asking the questions, here. Just answer.”

Castiel shoots Sam an annoyed look and says, “You want to know what side I’m on, right?” The hybrid waits until Sam nods before continuing, “I don’t identify with any one side, but if you must know, my loyalties lie with Dean.”

“Why?”

“That’s personal.”

“How can it be personal?”

“I pulled Dean from Hell. How much more personal can it get?”

Sam nods solemnly. “You make a good point.” They remain in silence for a while, and then Sam says, “Well, I’ll let you try and sort your wings out.”

Castiel doesn’t answer, only watches as Sam opens the door, backs out of the panic room, and shuts the door again. Sam doesn’t know whether or not he should trust Castiel, but his gut is telling him that the hybrid is hiding something. What, Sam doesn’t know, but it probably has to do with Dean.

Ruby seems extremely suspicious of him, and Sam wonders what he’s supposed to get out of that. Should he trust the hybrid or not? It seems like Dean already does, so maybe Sam should stay on his guard. After all, Dean’s been kicking and screaming about working with Ruby even though everything she’s done has been to help them, so Sam could definitely do the same where Castiel is concerned. But he’s not as big of a douche as his brother.

Sam reaches the living room, looks down at Dean, and hopes he wakes up soon.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_When John Winchester goes to Hell, there is a lot of excitement._

_Not everyone understands what exactly is going on because Lilith, Azazel, and Alastair like to be secretive about their plans, but Castiel does remember bits and pieces of the great story, and he knows that having a Righteous Man in Hell is the lead-up to the first seal._

_Hundreds of demons come to watch Alastair work on this man who came not for selfish reasons but to save his son’s life, this man who doesn’t belong in Hell._

_Castiel stands with them for some time, watching the methods of torture grow more and more gruesome, more and more drawn-out. But each time he expects John to break, expects him to give in and take up the blade, the soul spits in Alastair’s face and tells him to get lost. He only ever comes close when Alastair taunts him with his sons, Sam and Dean. Even then, he refuses, in the end._

_And Castiel can’t help but respect the man. Over a century in Hell-years, and he still has no problem denying Alastair at the end of every pain-filled day._

_So when the gates are opened and Castiel feels that first breath of fresh air, he’s standing in the torture room, watching John Winchester curiously. Alastair has given up for the day, has gone back to wherever it is he takes his rest. Demons are streaming out to freedom, screaming with joy because ordinary demons aren’t allowed—or capable, for that matter—to simply walk out of Hell, not the way Castiel or the other crossroad demons are._

_The human souls around Castiel wail in despair because they can’t get to the exit, strapped in as they are. And even now, when the idea of freedom looms so close, John’s composure does not break. The soul looks up at the opening, so small and high up in the distance, and Castiel can read the yearning in his features, but John doesn’t make a sound._

_Castiel looks around himself to make sure that no one is watching him—no one is—before stepping over to the rack. John tenses up, eyes trained on Castiel warily._

_Later, Castiel would not be able to explain to himself why he did it. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself for doing it, would give up anything to be able to go back and undo it._

_But in this moment, Castiel moves even closer, checking one last time to ensure that everyone’s attention is elsewhere, before murmuring an incantation that breaks the chains binding John to the rack. The soul falls to the ground, fractured, crippled, and Castiel gathers him up in his arms before stretching his wings out and taking flight._

_He carries John straight up, through the Devil’s gate, and deposits him on the cool ground of Earth._

_By the time John turns to thank him, Castiel is gone._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Dean wakes with a start, the memory of Alastair’s fist coming at him still fresh in his mind’s eye.

“Dean! Dean, Jesus Christ, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Dean grumbles. “Don’t know about Jesus, though.”

“You’ve been out cold for hours, man. How do you feel?”

“Peachy,” Dean answers. He sits up slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose, and wow, he really does feel fine. Physically, at least. He presses his fingers against his cheeks, forehead, chin, expecting to find some pretty nasty bruising, but there’s nothing—no pain.

“You sure? Castiel said that Alastair banged you up pretty good.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, frowning. “Yeah, ‘m fine.” He glances up at Sam and does a double-take because he can _see_ that Sam is—is _dark_ , and fuck, is he looking at Sam’s _soul?_ Dean’s mind flashes back to the mostly empty warehouse, to holy water and knives and delicious— _delicious_ , what the _fuck_ —blood.

“Uh… why are you looking at me like that?” Sam asks.

“Sam, I uh—I think I might be—” Dean blinks a few times, but the dark “aura” surrounding Sam isn’t going away. “I think I might be looking at your uh, your soul.”

“What?”

“I drank some of Cas’s blood.”

Sam’s eyes go wide. “You did what?”

“It wasn’t my choice! Alastair forced it on me,” Dean says. And it’s weird that Sam didn’t notice, because something tells Dean that it was Sam who killed Alastair, using those freaky mind-powers of his. Cas had been strung up, and Dean had practically sucked him dry, anyway. He couldn’t have beaten Alastair.

“Oh my god. Do you think—do you think that’s why you healed up so well?” Sam asks. “Because I swear you at least had some bruises when we were still in the car, but there’s not a scratch on you now.”

Dean shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe. Anyway uh, we got anything to eat here? I’m starving.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “We’ve got some leftovers from earlier if you want them. Bobby made chili.”

“Awesome.”

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

After eating his fill, Dean goes back into the living room, where Sam’s set up with his laptop. He thinks about telling Sam everything, telling him what Alastair said about Dean breaking the first seal. But fuck, even just _thinking_ about it hurts, and he tries his best to turn his mind away from it.

He’s still strangely hungry, he realizes, even though his stomach feels full. Maybe Sam’s right and he really is hosting a tapeworm or something.

“You okay?” Sam asks.

“Yeah,” Dean answers, ignoring the hunger. “Yeah, I’m fine. So are you gonna tell me what happened with Alastair?”

“Oh,” Sam says. “Yeah, I—when I got there, Alastair was already dead. I’m guessing the angels took care of him. So I just grabbed you guys and got lost.”

“If the angels killed Alastair, why would they just leave us there for you to find?”

“Beats me,” Sam says, shrugging.

Dean looks down, considering it. His instincts are still screaming at him that Sam has used his mojo recently, but he has no clue how he could possibly know that. Is this something like the fact that Sam still has this darkness around him, some weird skill that Dean got from Cas’s blood?

“Wait, you just said you grabbed _us_. So is Cas around here somewhere?” Dean asks.

“Yeah. He’s in the panic room.”

Dean stares at Sam and says, voice flat, “The panic room. That’s where you put him to recover from his injuries—the _panic room_.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, nodding. “It’ll keep him hidden from anything that’s looking for him, won’t it?”

“We’re both carrying hex bags, and we’ve got spares. You could have given him one.”

“I guess, but…”

“But what? But you didn’t want to let him stay up here, where he could pose a threat?” Dean says, almost unreasonably angry—a voice in his head reminds him that Sam is only trying to do what he thinks is best, but Dean doesn’t want to listen to it right now.

“Okay, maybe I don’t trust him,” Sam says. “Is that so unreasonable?”

“Oh, so you’ll trust a full demon and not a half-angel?”

“She saved my life, Dean,” Sam says, and Dean’s really getting sick of hearing that argument.

“And Cas pulled me out of friggin’ Hell! What more do you want?”

“He could have done it on Lilith’s orders.”

“Yeah? Well Ruby could be screwing with your head on Lilith’s orders! Did that ever occur to you?”

“Cas lied to us,” Sam says.

“You say that as though Ruby’s never lied to us,” Dean replies.

“When did she—”

“She said she could save me from going to Hell, didn’t she? She said she didn’t know who held my contract, didn’t she?”

“Dean, that was like…” Sam sighs and shakes his head, thinking, “…like a _year_ ago. Ruby’s—”

“I don’t care how long ago that was. You trusted her even back then, even though she was a full-on demon. Why are you so suspicious of Cas, huh?”

“Because Ruby said he’s working for Lilith, okay?” Sam says.

Dean stares at his little brother. “Wow, so you’re just going off her word now, are you? Sam, Ruby could just as easily be working for Lilith. Then of _course_ she wouldn’t want us to trust Cas, because—”

“Why do you trust him so much?”

“Why do _you_ trust _her_ so much?”

Sam and Dean stare at each other for a long moment, silence settling heavily between them. Then Dean turns and stomps out of the room, heading for the basement.

“Dean—” Sam begins, and Dean hears his footsteps following.

“Don’t,” Dean says, turning as he reaches the stairs. “Just don’t. I wanna talk to Cas. Alone.”

“Fine, go ahead,” Sam says, throwing both hands up in frustration.

The giant clunks his way back over to the living room, and Dean turns to go downstairs. It’s quiet in the basement, and Dean really hopes that Cas is okay. As he moves closer to the door of the panic room, he becomes more aware of the hunger gnawing away at his stomach, and he makes a mental note to guilt Sam into buying him a burger later. Maybe some pie, too.

Strangely, pie doesn’t sound all that appetizing right now.

Then Dean pulls open the door to the panic room, and all he can smell is this overwhelming mix of rust and ozone. As soon as he steps inside, Cas lunges for the exit, but Dean instinctively grabs onto his arm, throwing him farther into the room. He yanks the door shut, and Cas seems to wilt, sinking back onto the cot wearily.

“This room weakens me,” Cas says in explanation. “I need access to my Grace in order to recuperate properly, and the iron… it drains me.”

“You look fine to me.”

“When you drank my blood, you drew from my Grace as well—that is not an injury that manifests itself on the physical plane. It will take some time for me to recover.”

“Oh.”

“How is Sam?”

“What do you mean, how is Sam?”

Cas tilts his head to the side. “I was under the impression that the last few times he used his powers, it caused him quite a bit of pain.”

Dean’s stomach dips, because it seems like his instincts are right, and Sam used his mojo recently. But still he asks, “What are you talking about, Cas?”

“He killed Alastair,” Cas says. “He crushed Alastair completely, without even breaking a sweat.”

“Hmm,” Dean hums distractedly, shifting closer to the cot.

Cas looks up at him through squinted eyes, wary. “Dean… do you feel okay?”

Dean inhales deeply, and fuck, the craving—it’s not just hunger, it’s _need_ , pure, raw _need_ —intensifies to the point that Dean begins to wonder why he’s not doing anything yet.

“Dean,” Cas says, a note of urgency in his voice.

Dean leans down, and Cas leans back, trying to put some distance between them. So Dean decides to save them some time and shoves Cas down, pinning him to the cot. Cas struggles—of course he struggles—but he’s surprisingly weak like this, injured and without his mojo, and Dean crawls onto the cot over him, straddling Cas’s hips and forcing Cas’s hands down to his sides.

Dean lifts one knee at a time, trapping Cas’s forearms beneath his legs, and it’s a rush to see how helpless Cas is against him, now that the tables are turned. Dean cups Cas’s cheek and grins when Cas turns his face away, a useless show of defiance. Dean draws his hunting knife from his boot.

“You don’t want to do this,” Cas says, firm and calm. “Dean, think. Please.”

His voice pierces through the haze that’s clouding up Dean’s brain, fogging up his thoughts, but Dean leans down, noses at Cas’s neck, and another hit of that scent just ratchets that hunger up to eleven, and—“C-Cas,” he gets out, straightening again, “I don’t think I can stop.”

The hunting knife is resting along Cas’s neck, glinting silver against skin that looks unhealthily pale, and how did it get there? Dean doesn’t even remember moving his hand.

“Dean—”

“I’ve been fucking starving since I woke up, and this… I think this is why,” Dean mutters. “Fuck, Cas, what did you do to me?”

“Believe me, I did not want this,” Cas says, losing some of his composure. “Dean, _get off me_.”

But the gnawing ache in Dean’s stomach will not be denied, and when Cas strains too hard in his attempt to get away, Dean tenses up, and the blade nicks Cas’s neck, drawing blood. The smell in the room is even worse now, even harder to resist, and Dean lifts his knife, eyes fluttering shut as he draws his tongue along the flat of it, catching the droplets, and _fuck_ , he hadn’t been working at full capacity back in the torture room, so he couldn’t have properly registered the taste, because he doesn’t think he’s ever tasted anything so fucking _good_.

So _right_.

“Dean, _don’t_ —” Cas protests, desperation—sweet, sweet desperation—rolling off him in waves now, and with Dean’s stolen bit of Grace, he can fucking _see_ it.

And he wants to humor Cas, wants to let him go, but he also wants more, _needs_ more, and Cas is an angel—or at least part angel, right? He’s capable of handling a little blood loss. So Dean leans down, lengthens the cut a little with the knife and hurriedly presses his mouth to Cas’s neck.

Nothing in the world could taste like this—hot, thick, and fucking rich, flavor exploding across his tongue, and he doesn’t know how to describe it. It’s like sex— _better_ than sex—and at that thought, Dean becomes aware of the fact that he’s getting hard, starts rolling his hips a little to relieve the tension.

Cas’s arms are still pinned under Dean’s knees, and Dean can feel Cas’s struggles growing weaker as Dean drinks from him, greedy.

But eventually Dean feels _full_ , hunger sated enough that he can think around his need and his arousal, and he pulls back slightly, watches as blood wells up sluggishly around the cut on Cas’s neck. He presses his mouth to Cas’s, pushes his tongue between Cas’s lips, and Cas seems to flinch under him, remembering himself and weakly renewing his attempts to get away.

Dean stands and looks down at Cas on the cot, skin so much paler than it should be, eyes glazed over, and Dean feels strong, strong and healthy and _really_ fucking turned on, so he grabs Cas by the hips and flips him over, pulls him up onto his knees. Cas doesn’t even fight him, just stays in the position that Dean puts him in, and fuck, the sight of him like this—torso still flat on the mattress, ass raised in the air so that it’s like he’s fucking presenting himself to Dean, offering himself up, _begging_ for it—

Dean can’t resist, goes over to the storage cabinet, and rummages through the drawers, eventually coming up with some lotion to use for lube, because he’s not about to leave the room with the biggest hard-on he can ever remember having.

When he turns back, Cas is still there, back bowed beautifully, and Dean loses his breath.

“Fuck, _Cas_ ,” Dean mutters, dick throbbing in his jeans, and yeah, that’s exactly what he wants to do.

Dean drops the bottle of lotion on the bed and turns his attention to stripping Cas bare. He tugs the leather jacket off Cas’s shoulders and shoves the dark tee up, but he’s too lazy to try to get the shirt over Cas’s head, especially because that would require lifting his head and shoulders from the bed, and Dean loves the position he’s in way too much to screw it up.

So he leaves the shirt rucked up around Cas’s upper torso and gets to work unbuttoning Cas’s fly, shoving the zipper down, and yanking the denim over the round, generous curve of Cas’s ass. He takes Cas’s underwear with it, because the sooner he has Cas naked, the better.

And god, that is a thought he really needs to reevaluate later—hell, something feels strangely wrong about this whole slew of actions, but Dean won’t stop, can’t stop, can’t even _think_ of stopping.

Cas’s head is turned to the side so that he can breathe, ragged breaths in and out of his slack mouth, and Dean can’t help but admire how pretty and vulnerable he looks with his lips parted like that, skin pale as fucking _snow_ , and a voice in Dean’s head tells him that it’s because of the fucking blood loss, that he shouldn’t be turned on by it, but he _is_ , and it’s fucking _glorious_.

It’s even better when Dean realizes that he can see something glowing beneath Cas’s skin, pulsing with his heartbeat, an ice-blue tint that Dean realizes must be his soul, or Grace, or whatever he has—he’s a hybrid, so Dean doesn’t know what applies. And fuck, if what Cas said is true, then that’s what’s running through Dean’s veins right now, making him strong and powerful.

Dean gets Cas’s jeans and boxers down to his knees before deciding that that’s naked enough for him and snatching up the bottle of lotion. He squeezes some onto his fingers before putting the bottle down and using his clean hand to pull one of Cas’s cheeks to the side. The sight of that pink hole clenching down instinctively almost makes Dean come in his pants, and he groans, reaching forward to smear lotion all over that tight pucker.

Cas hisses, low, and Dean takes his time rubbing his fingers in circles over Cas’s hole, not pressing in just yet because he likes to tease himself. Cas grumbles something unintelligible, and Dean pauses.

“What, Cas? You want something?” he says, releasing Cas’s ass to grab the bottle and squeeze some more lotion over his fingers.

“Don’t,” Cas mumbles, and his voice sounds hoarse, like it’s scraping the surface of his throat.

Then Dean’s pressing his index finger into Cas’s tight little hole, and Cas clenches around him, probably in protest, but all Dean can do is imagine how that’s gonna feel around his dick when he finally gets in there, when he splits Cas open with his cock.

He works his way up steadily, probably too fast, but he can’t bring himself to care, transitioning from one finger to two, then three, scissoring them now and then to speed things along because he needs to get into Cas freakin’ yesterday.

“Dean,” Cas gets out in his low, gravelly voice, and the sound just goes straight to Dean’s dick.

“Shh, shh,” Dean murmurs, rubbing Cas’s lower back with his free hand and sliding it up to his shoulder blades, reveling in all that smooth, pale skin available to him. “Gonna take care o’ you, Cas. Gonna fuck you ‘til you’re begging for it, begging to come on my cock.”

Cas only moans weakly, and Dean looks down, takes in how perfect Cas’s ass looks stretched around his fingers, the fit so snug that Dean almost doesn’t think his dick will even fit in there. Dean manages to hold off for another ten thrusts or so before pulling his fingers back out and fumbling with his own belt buckle, and goddamn it, clothing has never been so difficult to deal with as it is now.

Cas is breathing shallowly, eyes closed, brows furrowed like he’s concentrating hard, and Dean wants to break him apart, not just physically but emotionally, wants to rip Cas into tiny little pieces and put him back together, remake him into a something new, something—something _his_. Wants to rewire Cas’s body so that it’s all his, his to command, his to drink from, his to fuck, his to _eat_ if he fucking wants to.

He wants to _own_ Cas, _keep_ Cas, have him in every possible way, and that’s a thought Dean’s never had before about anybody, and it should be terrifying, except that it isn’t.

Dean finally gets his belt undone and shoves his jeans and briefs down far enough for his cock to spring free, so hard that he thinks he might burst before he even gets inside Cas. He gets up on the bed behind Cas and drapes himself over him, resting his hands on either side of Cas’s shoulders.

“Say ‘please,’ babe,” he breathes into Cas’s ear, because just fucking Cas won’t be enough, not if Dean wants to _own_ him. He needs Cas to submit to him, to want to be his; he wants that so bad he thinks he could die if he doesn’t get it.

“Dean,” Cas repeats, and Dean shakes his head.

“Nope, you’re gonna have to do better than that, sweetheart,” Dean says, and he reaches down and finds that Cas’s dick is soft, uninterested. Disappointment flashes through him, but then he remembers that Cas is suffering from blood loss, and his brain is probably saving his blood for more vital uses.

Dean makes a mental note not to drink too much next time—it’ll be easier not to indulge when he’s sure that Cas won’t be going anywhere.

And Cas _won’t_ be going anywhere, because he’ll be Dean’s, won’t want to be anywhere else.

“C’mon, Cas. You’re here because of me, aren’t you? Ruby says you’re working for Lilith. But I know you’re not her bitch. You wanna know how I know that, Cas? Hmm?” Cas doesn’t answer, and Dean doesn’t know whether it’s because he can’t or won’t, but it doesn’t matter because he just continues, “I know because you’re _my_ bitch. You’re _mine_ , and no one else’s. You got that? Even in the pit, you were mine. Had to raise me because you couldn’t leave me there, not when I wanted to be gone.”

“ _Dean_.”

“Y’know, you’re gonna have to say something other than my name if you wanna get fucked.”

“D-Don’t do this,” Cas says, stuttering because Dean’s biting down on the back of his neck, biting down hard and sucking because he wants to leave a mark somewhere on Cas, where people will see it.

Dean rears up and grabs the bottle of lotion, slicking himself up quickly before tossing the bottle aside and resuming his position braced over Cas, sliding his erection along the crack of Cas’s ass.

“You want it, don’t you?” And then his mind switches tactics, says, “You want me to trust you, don’t you, Cas? Want my loyalty in return?”

Cas wasn’t really moving before, but he was trembling. Now, he’s absolutely still, and Dean _knows_ he hit the jackpot, knows he’s gonna get exactly what he wants if he keeps going with this.

“You want me to be yours too,” he breathes into Cas’s ear. “You can have me, sweetheart. You can have _all_ of me, s’long as you say the magic words.” He leans down a bit farther, licks at the clotting wound on Cas’s neck, and even the cool, mostly dried blood gives Dean a little kick.

“Please.” Cas’s voice is small, cracked.

Dean only continues to rut against Cas’s ass, the head of his dick catching on Cas’s rim every few passes, and he thinks he might die if he doesn’t get inside soon, but he won’t settle for anything less than _exactly_ what he wants, because how else is Cas gonna learn? So he prompts, “Please what?”

“Please fuck me.”

Dean grins.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Sam tugs open the door to the panic room and freezes at the sight before him.

“What the _fuck_ —”

He’d come down here because Dean had been gone for a disproportionately long amount of time, but if anything, he’d expected the opposite of what he is actually seeing—Castiel is pinned down on the bed, vulnerable, and Dean’s behind him, pants down, practically preparing to _mount_ him, holy fucking _shit_.

Dean’s head spins round at the sound of Sam’s voice, and his teeth bare in a snarl, and Sam almost backs out of the room, caught off guard.

But he snaps into action in the next moment, fully entering the room and grabbing Dean’s shoulders, tugging him off the bed.

“Cas! Get away—get off the bed!” he barks at the hybrid, but Cas doesn’t move an inch, and just what the hell did his brother _do_ to this supernatural creature to make it so compliant?

Dean, for his part, is doing his best to fight Sam off, cursing up a storm and trying to wrestle his way out of Sam’s grasp.

“Bobby!” Sam shouts, because Dean is freakishly strong right now, and while normally Sam is pretty sure he and Dean match up pretty well, there’s something manic, feral about Dean at this moment, and Sam doesn’t think he can hold him for much longer.

Dean manages to throw Sam back against a wall, but instead of going for Castiel, Dean tries to follow it up with a punch. Sam ducks, and oh _god_ he never wanted that view of his brother’s junk. He scrambles to the side, past the doorway of the panic room, and as Dean passes by, he’s hit in the head by a baseball bat and drops to the ground.

Sam lets out a sigh of relief and shucks his own shirt, draping it over Castiel, who still hasn’t moved an inch. “Castiel, you okay?” he asks, but he doesn’t get a response.

“What the hell _happened_ down here?” Bobby asks, bewildered, and Sam just shakes his head because it doesn’t make any sort of sense to him.

“I just know we’ve gotta get Dean away from Castiel.”

“Yeah, probably tie ‘im up, too,” Bobby agrees.

Sam nods, and together they drag Dean out of the panic room and toward the stairs.

“God _damn_ ,” Sam huffs. “I’m gonna make him start dieting as soon as he wakes up.”

“Well, you can’t exactly threaten him with heart disease when he lives like he’s ready to die any day,” Bobby says. Sam gives Bobby a frustrated look, and Bobby says, “What? I’m just telling the truth.”

There’s a rustling of wings just as they reach the foot of the stairs, and Sam feels the bottom of his stomach dropping out.

“Shit,” he curses, and drops Dean’s legs, rushing back to the panic room. Cas is nowhere to be seen.

“Balls!” Bobby says from beside him.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_Alastair could have saved Azazel’s life. When the Devil’s gate opened, he’d gone up right away to take a look around, had watched from the opening as demons streamed out into the night._

_But then he’d returned to the depths of the pit, to his favorite place, just in time to see Castiel approaching the rack. Specifically, John Winchester. Alastair had taken no action, just watched as the hybrid freed John Winchester from his bonds and took flight, carrying him out of Hell._

_Lilith already had the contract for Dean Winchester’s soul, so it wasn’t too big a loss. And besides, could Alastair be blamed for growing bored of John Winchester’s tenacity, his unending ability to stay noble, to withstand torture? It’d be nice to work with some fresh meat. And how was Alastair to know that John Winchester’s release would lead to Azazel’s death?_

_But even if Alastair had known the consequences, he might have let Castiel get away with it anyway._

_Deep down, Alastair has been waiting for this day. At last, Azazel is gone, and Anael is too far away to lay claim to Castiel—the hybrid is essentially free for the taking. No one has a right to him, and that means Alastair has a better chance._

_But Castiel seems uninterested in having that sort of a relationship with anyone. Alastair knows that if he really chose to force Castiel to submit to his will, he could. But more important than owning Castiel would be Castiel wanting him. He can’t say what it is about Castiel, but whatever it is, it’s powerful, and it makes him_ need _._

_Alastair is idle most days now, because his expertise isn’t necessary at the rack. Meg is skilled enough to take control, so there is little that actually requires Alastair’s attention._

_“At least Dean will be here soon,” Lilith says, and Alastair holds back a sigh. Lilith must be getting better at hiding her motions, because Alastair didn’t sense her impending arrival at all. Or maybe he was too lost in thought to notice._

_“Yes,” he agrees. “You’ve said this more than once. Repeating it won’t make the day come faster.”_

_Lilith frowns at him. “You need to relax. Maybe I could interest you in having a meal with me.”_

_“I don’t think so,” Alastair says. “I don’t particularly like the taste of human.”_

_“Oh, but they’re just so delicious,” Lilith says with a smile. When Alastair only shakes his head, Lilith shrugs. “Your loss.” After a pause, she says, “Castiel, then? I’ve said before that he should submit to you if you want to keep him, but you and I both know you could defeat him, in a straight fight. He may be powerful, but experience counts for quite a bit.”_

_“Maybe I want him to come to me.”_

_“He won’t,” Lilith says bluntly. “He’s shown no interest in such matters.”_

_“I know.”_

_Lilith stares at Alastair for a long moment before saying, “You are… strange. If I had your level of obsession with that hybrid, I would have taken him the moment Azazel died.”_

_“There is a difference between force and choice, and I want him to choose me.”_

_“He’ll never choose you,” Lilith scoffs._

_“Don’t be so sure.”_

_After a pause, Lilith says, “Suit yourself, then. But you_ do _need to relax. All that stress can’t be good for your health.”_

_“Fuck off.”_

_Lilith smiles nastily before vanishing._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Sandover is ridiculously dull… which, to be honest, is fucking unbelievable, because the company is _haunted_ , yet it still manages to be mind-numbingly boring.

Balthazar is stationed as a secretary, working on the twenty-second floor. He takes care of files and screens phone calls and makes coffee, and he _hates_ it. The ghost in this building is supposed to force people to kill themselves, but he is positive that were he a human, he wouldn’t need any encouragement from a ghost to take a leap out the window. He almost regrets asking for this assignment. But there’s a reason why he’s here.

Inias reported to Heaven yesterday with the news that Uriel was dead, that he’d been a traitor, trying to recruit other angels to bring on the apocalypse. He’d also reported Alastair’s death, something that was mourned and celebrated in equal measure. He’d had little news about the Righteous Man, but Zachariah had gone down himself to check—apparently, the Winchesters’ favored location was known to him—and found Dean Winchester in extremely poor condition.

This set-up, this assignment, is to fix the Righteous Man, to put him back on the right path. Honestly, Balthazar couldn’t care less what the Righteous Man feels, but what matters is that Inias said Uriel’s death had been by Anael’s hand.

Anael, the angel who hasn’t been seen for centuries. The angel who carried Little One—Castiel. And sure, all angels are now under orders to kill him on sight, but Balthazar sympathizes with him because he’s stayed hidden for so long—the only reason he would have had to rise again is Castiel’s reappearance. Anael must have come into contact with him. Otherwise, he would not be resurfacing.

 _That_ is the reason why Balthazar put in a request with Zachariah to take Uriel’s place as Inias’s partner. Inias has been assigned everything to do with Dean Winchester, and rumor has it Castiel is hovering around Dean, even went so far as to mark the human with protective sigils against angels. By keeping an eye on Dean, Balthazar hopes to come into contact with the hybrid again, hopes that he’ll get to meet the young brother he lost so long ago.

“Tell me about him—about Castiel,” Balthazar says, joining Inias in the break room. Inias is working as Dean’s personal secretary, and he’s currently fiddling with the complicated coffee machine.

“Don’t you have work to be doing?” Inias asks, glancing around surreptitiously.

No one else is in the break room—Balthazar had made sure of that before entering. “Sure, but it’s nothing I can’t do when I get back.”

“We shouldn’t be abusing our powers like that,” Inias says, pursing his lips in concentration.

“Inias, live a little,” Balthazar says, leaning over to catch his brother’s eye. He smiles when Inias meets his gaze and watches the younger angel’s resolve crumble.

“You knew him before he was taken, didn’t you?” Inias says. Balthazar nods, and Inias says, “Then I guess his appearance wouldn’t be so interesting to you. But he is… he is more breathtaking than I thought he would be. I’ve never seen Grace so blue. So… so…”

“Pure,” Balthazar finishes for him.

“Yes, pure.”

“Tell me what you think about him.”

Inias frowns at the coffeemaker and slaps the side of it once. Balthazar sighs, rolls his eyes, and presses his fingers to the side of the machine. Hot coffee pours into the mug, and Inias gives him a disapproving look.

Balthazar shrugs, unconcerned. “We have time, Inias. Tell me.”

Inias sets the mug of steaming hot coffee down on the counter and turns toward Balthazar. “I… I am conflicted. I never knew Anael, but what I saw… Zachariah insists that Anael is evil and that Michael and Raphael want him killed, but Anael— _Anna_ —saved my life. Uriel… Uriel turned on me.”

Here, Inias stops, and Balthazar waits patiently for him to continue—Inias had been partnered with Uriel for at least a thousand years, and it must have hurt to learn Uriel’s true nature.

Eyes on the ground, Inias says, “Anna told me that Castiel is on… that he’s in the right. That all he’s done is for mankind’s benefit, and that he’s being persecuted because what’s best for mankind is not the same as what’s best for Heaven.” Inias darts a glance in Balthazar’s direction, as if afraid of what he’ll see, and Balthazar gives him a small nod, encouraging. “I am not sure what to think, brother.”

“What does your instinct tell you?” Balthazar asks.

“We are not supposed to trust instinct,” Inias replies. “We must trust our orders. Our orders are just, because they are God’s will.”

The words are nothing Balthazar hasn’t heard before, and he isn’t surprised that Inias would hang onto them now, when he’s beginning to experience doubt. This is a potential ally that Balthazar has here, if he plays his cards right. “Trust the facts, Inias. Trust what you see in front of you,” Balthazar says. “I don’t believe that you can follow orders mindlessly. What do you see, when you look at Castiel?”

Inias looks at Balthazar for a long moment, considering, and then he says, barely audible, “A leader—someone I would be willing to follow.”

Balthazar smiles slowly. “I feel the same way,” he says. “Even when I was too young to understand much of the world, I knew there was something about him.”

Inias is visibly relieved at Balthazar’s admission, so Balthazar decides to push a little farther.

“Would you help him, if he needed it?”

“I don’t think I would go against Heaven,” Inias says. “But I do think I would do my best.”

Balthazar is happy to hear this, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s dangerous to speak so freely, and they’ve already taken a pretty big risk, talking about this out in the open.

“I should bring this to Dean,” Inias says, lifting the mug again. “Until next time, brother.”

“Of course,” Balthazar says.

He follows Inias out of the break room and moves in the opposite direction. However, he turns at the end of the hall and looks over at Dean’s office, watches through the slim window beside his door as Inias gives him the coffee.

Dean has a radiant smile. He looks well-groomed, carefully put-together, and the opposite of so many things Balthazar’s heard about him. But the point of this exercise is to make Dean realize that he is a hunter at heart, so it makes sense that Zachariah would alter parts of his personality.

Despite the changes on the surface, however, Balthazar sees through him to his soul. He’d originally thought it strange that Castiel would do something so drastic for any human being, but now, looking at Dean, he thinks he knows the reason why. He sees a hint of Castiel’s blue, the unique shade that he’s never seen anywhere else, reflected in Dean’s soul, and it makes perfect sense that Castiel would be drawn to him.

Then Inias is coming back out of Dean’s office, and Balthazar figures he should go back to his own desk before Inias gets on his case for staying “in character.”

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

It takes quite some time—almost a week and a half, to be exact—for Anna to find Castiel. This time, he’s hidden himself inside a cave in the Andes Mountains.

“I _will_ eventually find a way to keep myself hidden from even you,” Castiel says, and his voice is surprisingly weak.

Anna hurries over and is horrified by the state of him. His Grace is dim, dimmer than it ever should be, and Anna reaches down, transferring some energy to help him along.

“Don’t—” Castiel starts to protest, but his condition is already improving.

“Please, just accept my help,” Anna says.

Castiel quiets, eyes shut as he focuses on healing.

“Can you tell me what happened to you?”

Castiel shakes his head. “I’d really rather not.”

“Okay, then,” Anna says. “Well, Uriel is dead.” At this, Castiel’s eyes open, and Anna continues, “I was there when he turned on Inias, and I killed him myself.”

“I am impressed,” Castiel says. He stretches out his wings, and Anna is relieved to see that he already looks so much healthier.

“I went with Inias to check on Alastair,” Anna says. “He was dead, and you and Dean weren’t there. I’d assumed that you brought him to safety, but seeing you in this state…”

“Let it go.”

“Did Dean do this to you?” Anna asks.

“No.”

“He must have. I can’t imagine anyone else you would want to cover for. What did he do, hmm? How could he possibly drain energy from your Grace like that?” Castiel closes his eyes again, and Anna groans, not bothering to hide her frustration. “I won’t go after him in revenge, all right? Can you just tell me what exactly happened to you?”

“I’m fine,” Castiel says.

“You are very far from fine,” Anna counters.

But even as she says this, Castiel stills and his eyes go distant, as though he’s listening very carefully to something, and Anna grasps his shoulder, trying to hear what he’s hearing— _I am fresh out of options_.

Castiel shoves Anna away and gets to his feet, but Anna grabs his arm, because that was Dean’s voice, and the last thing Anna wants is for Castiel to go anywhere near Dean again.

“Release me,” Castiel says.

“No,” Anna says.

“He needs me.”

The conviction in Castiel’s voice is heartbreaking to Anna. She knows now just how much thought he put into Dean’s protection—the only way that Castiel could have intercepted Dean’s prayer, redirected it to go only to him, is if he included it as part of the protective sigils that keep Dean hidden from angelic sight. Anna still doesn’t know what exactly Castiel did to ensure that the sigils would follow Dean around, but it’s certainly been effective so far.

“I don’t know what you hope to gain by helping him, but I highly doubt it’ll result in anything good for you, Castiel. The last time I helped you help him, you ended up here, still hardly recovered despite having over a week to recuperate.”

Castiel fixes Anna with a hard stare. “Do you respect my free will?”

“Of course I do. But that doesn’t mean—”

“Then you can’t stop me.”

Castiel thrusts Anna far away from him with a hard push, flares his wings wide, and takes flight before Anna has enough time to react. She instantly takes off as well, but Castiel’s too quick, and she loses him within thirty seconds.

Frustrated, Anna decides to try to track down Sam Winchester instead.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Dean doesn’t understand how the angels could expect him to follow their orders when they never come to help him. He just prayed for their help and got nothing in return. Squat. And they weren’t there to keep an eye on Alastair’s Devil’s trap, either.

Inias popped in only like an hour ago with a new partner, some mouthy bastard with a British accent named Balthazar. And maybe the both of them think that there’s nothing they can do to stop this Sam-Lilith love connection from happening, but that doesn’t mean they can just _ignore_ Dean, right? Shouldn’t they be freakin’ rejoicing that Dean’s praying at all?

Dean leans on the hood of the Impala and pops open his soda, glaring up at the sign that now reads “Red Motel,” the lit up letters winking now and then as though they’re mocking him.

And then there’s the sound of wings flapping, and when Dean turns his head, Castiel is standing a few yards away, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. Memories of Cas’s blood hot on his tongue, Cas’s hole stretched wide around his fingers abruptly flash through his mind, and Dean goes hot all over.

“Cas,” he says. If he pretends he doesn’t remember what happened, will it all be okay? “I uh, I didn’t think it’d be you. Thought I was prayin’ to the angel brigade.”

Cas smiles wryly. “Well, you’ve got the next best thing. What can I do for you?”

“Do you know what’s going on here?”

“You might have to give me a rundown. I’ve been… let’s just say I’ve been out of commission.”

It’s a miracle that Dean doesn’t burst into flame on the spot at those words. Sure, Zachariah may have been able to scrub the… the immediate effects of Cas’s blood on Dean, but the memories are all there, and Jesus, Dean half-thinks he should be groveling or something right now. Instead, he explains what’s been happening—that he and Sam ran into a prophet named Chuck Shurley, and that Chuck predicted that Sam and Lilith were going to sleep together.

“Sam’s gonna go darkside if we don’t do anything,” Dean finishes.

“What do you want me to do?” Cas asks.

“Drag Sam out of here, now. Before Lilith shows up,” Dean says.

After a pause, Cas says, “I… searched the town before coming here. Lilith’s demons have definitely scoped this place out thoroughly. I can still smell the sulfur lingering.”

“Okay,” Dean says, nodding. “Okay, so Chuck’s probably right. Grab Sam, and let’s go.”

Cas shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

“What—oh god, don’t tell me you can’t interfere. Don’t—”

“I’ll interfere as much as I want to,” Cas says. “After all, an angel was supposed to pull you out of Hell, not me.”

“Okay, then why won’t you help me?”

“I will,” Cas says. “But I’ve never seen Lilith’s demons do such a thorough job.”

“So?”

Cas actually rolls his eyes, which is fucking surreal. “It means Lilith is scared. She knows something that we don’t know, and it scares her. I want to find out what it is.”

“Wait, so you—you wanna let Sam talk to her.”

“Yes.”

“We are _not_ using Sammy as bait!” Dean hisses.

“We need to beat Lilith, Dean. To do that, we need to know as much as possible, and if she’s got useful information, we’re gonna need it. Do you have any other options? A prophet just told you exactly where Lilith’s gonna show up tonight. We’d be fools not to use that to our advantage.”

“But it’s _Sam_ , Cas,” Dean says, shaking his head. “I can’t just—I can’t leave him to—”

“He won’t be alone,” Cas says. “I’ll make sure he gets out before Lilith can do anything to him.”

“Yeah? And how are you gonna do that?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got an edge over Lilith when it comes to flying. I’ll be able to get your brother out of there in time.”

Dean folds his arms across his chest. “How sure are you that this is gonna work?”

Cas tilts his head to the side. “I don’t know, say, eighty-five percent.”

“Not good enough.”

“Not good enough had better be good enough, Dean. We’re not giving up this opportunity,” Cas says. Dean doesn’t reply, just stares Cas down. After a long moment, Cas says, “Your prophet friend, Chuck. How well do you know him?”

“Not well at all. Why?”

Cas frowns. “He’ll have to do.”

“For what?”

“Prophets are protected by archangels,” Cas says. “If anything threatens a prophet, an archangel will come down from Heaven and eliminate the threat.”

“So what you’re saying is that if we get Chuck in the same room as Lilith…”

“Then one Heaven’s most powerful weapons will come down to smite her.”

“Okay, so that’s plan B,” Dean says. “But we’re not going through with plan A ‘til you explain all the details for me.”

“That will take time, of which we don’t have much.”

“So explain quickly.”

Castiel lets out a longsuffering sigh and gets started.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

There’s no one in the entrance when Sam opens the door. Could have been some kids playing pranks who just happened to knock on his door… but Sam doesn’t really believe in coincidence. But then he turns around, and—

“Hello, Sam.”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Sam says, and Lilith’s eyes turn white.

“Where’s the knife, Sam?” she asks.

“On the nightstand, by the bed.”

Lilith starts moving toward the bed, and for a second, Sam thinks he might have actually gotten her, but she stops in front of the rug and lifts it up, and well, it was worth a shot, Sam thinks as she burns a hole in the Devil’s trap.

“You’re gonna have to try a lot harder than that,” Lilith says, turning to face Sam.

“How ‘bout this?” Sam says, lifting his hand and drawing on the powers that he’s become so familiar with. But he can’t move her, not like he could Alastair, and he can’t decide whether that’s because she’s more powerful than Alastair, or because he hasn’t topped up on blood in the past few days. It’s probably a combination of both.

“You’re strong,” Lilith comments. “But you’re not that strong. Not yet.”

“So why don’t you throw me around, then?”

“Because I can’t, and you know it,” she says, sounding annoyed. “You’re immune to my charms. Seems we’re at a stalemate.”

“Why are you here?”

“To talk,” Lilith replies, walking toward him.

“Yeah, well, I’m not interested,” Sam scoffs.

“Hmm,” Lilith hums thoughtfully, circling around behind Sam and coming back in front of him. “Even if I’m offering to stand down? From the seals… the apocalypse… all of it?”

“You expect me to believe that?” Sam says.

“Honestly? No. You were always the smart one. But it’s the truth. You can end it, Sam. Right here, right now. I’ll stop breaking seals, Lucifer keeps rotting in his cage. All you have to do is agree to my terms,” Lilith says.

But it doesn’t make any sense. “Why would you back down?” Sam asks. “Why now?”

“Turns out, I don’t survive this war. Killed off, right before the good part starts.”

“What do you want?” Sam asks.

“For it to go back to the way it was. Before I had angels to deal with twenty-four seven. The good old days, when it was all baby blood all the time.”

“And what do you want in return?”

“Your head on a stick. Dean’s, too. Call it a consolation prize. So what do you say, Sam? Self-sacrifice is the Winchester way, isn’t it?”

“You really think I’m stupid enough to fall for this?” Sam says.

“I make a deal, I have to follow through. Those are the rules, and you know it. Are you really so arrogant that you would put your life before the lives of six billion innocent people?” Lilith asks, and she really does know exactly what to say, doesn’t she? “Maybe it’s all that demon blood pumping through your pipes. Man after my own heart.”

“You think I’m like you? I am _nothing_ like you,” Sam says, thinking quickly.

“Then prove it. Going once,” she says, turning and moving toward the bed, “Going twice.”

“Fine,” Sam says, plan in mind. He’s gotta look reluctant enough that Lilith will believe he’s giving in to her request. The knife’s still on the nightstand, so he should be able to reach it from the bed—

Then a hand grasps him by the shoulder, and Sam hears Lilith cry out an angry “No!” before he’s tugged out of the room, out of—out of time and space as he knows it, and he’s been carried like this before, but he’s never been able to feel it, this strange desensitization to everything about himself, like an out-of-body experience.

He’s dropped unceremoniously onto a stiff mattress in an unfamiliar room, but when he looks around, he sees no sign of what brought him here, only Dean, jerking to his feet from his seat on the other bed.

“Sam! You’re okay, thank god,” he says.

“What the hell is going on, Dean?” Sam asks, looking around again. This time he notices Chuck sitting in a chair by the lone table in the room, and the set-up is really similar to the room he was just in with Lilith. “Is this—are we still in—”

“The fucking ‘Red’ Motel? Yeah, we’re still there,” Dean says. “And if Cas isn’t back in… ten minutes, then we’ve gotta scram.”

“Okay, then,” Sam says. “And Chuck is here because…?”

“If Cas didn’t drop you off within the next…” Dean glances down at his watch, “…thirty seconds or so, I was gonna storm in there with Chuck, because he’s got an archangel perched on his shoulder.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means if anything’s threatening his life, Heaven’s gonna do somethin’ about it.”

Sam looks over at Chuck. “Dude, we should keep him around all the time, then,” he jokes, and Chuck fidgets nervously.

“Uh, sure,” Dean says, and Sam can tell that he’s _this_ close to rolling his eyes. “Anyway, tell me—what did Lilith want from you?”

“She uh, she wanted to just end it, all of it,” Sam says.

“No kidding.”

“Yeah. She said that she found out she wasn’t gonna make it through this alive, so she wanted to make a deal with me: we give up our lives, and she stops what she’s doing,” Sam answers.

“A deal, huh?”

“That’s what she said,” Sam says, shrugging.

“To call the whole thing off—angels, seals, Lucifer rising, the whole shebang?”

“That was the gist of it.”

“Huh,” Dean grunts.

“What?” Sam asks.

“You didn’t think once about taking it?”

“You kidding me?” Sam says. “Dude, you spent all day trying to talk me off the Lilith track.”

“I’m just saying…”

“She would have found some way to weasel out of it. And all it would have cost us was our lives,” Sam concludes. He glances over at Chuck, who’s watching the scene interestedly, almost as though he’s mentally _critiquing their performance_ or something.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Dean says, and it figures that Dean would actually consider taking that sort of a deal. Dean was always the leaper, quick to jump in, quick to give himself up if necessary.

“Anyway, that’s not the point,” Sam says.

“What’s the point?”

“The point is, she’s scared. I could see it. Lilith is running,” Sam says.

Dean doesn’t look nearly as surprised as Sam would have expected him to be as he asks, “Running from what?”

“No clue. But she was telling the truth about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“She’s _not_ gonna survive the apocalypse. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Well, that sounded sufficiently sinister. You sure you don’t want to try your hand playing the villain?”

Sam whips around and sees Castiel, leaning back against the far wall with his arms folded across his chest. The hybrid quirks one side of his mouth up briefly before straightening and moving around the bed to stand next to Chuck.

“Everything went to plan. Lilith didn’t want to go up against Anna and me, two against one. Our Sam look-a-like is safe and sound at home, sleeping like a baby,” Cas reports.

“What are you talking about, ‘Sam look-a-like?’” Sam asks.

“We borrowed him just for a few minutes,” Cas answers. When Sam doesn’t show any sign of understanding, Cas elaborates, “When I dropped you off here, I exchanged you for him, so that Lilith would keep following me. I had to pick up someone who was about your size to make it convincing.”

“So you essentially _kidnapped_ a guy—”

“Oh, don’t worry—the guy didn’t wake up once. I put him right back in bed, not a scratch on him.”

Sam lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Okay, wow. I uh, I guess that was pretty good,” he says. “Thanks, Cas.”

“You say that like you’re surprised. I’ll have you know I’m an excellent strategist,” Cas says.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re awesome and we should all be kissing your ass,” Dean says, waving a hand in Cas’s direction dismissively. “What’re you gonna do, now?”

“I’m not sure,” Cas replies. Dean opens his mouth to speak, but Cas says, “I just know that I can’t stay,” and Sam’s watching his brother, but he can still barely believe it when he sees Dean’s face fall. Cas continues, oblivious, “It’s too dangerous for me to stay near you because I’m just too bright.”

“Too bright?” Sam repeats, finally looking away from Dean to focus on the hybrid. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Souls, Graces, they all come in different colors, different intensities. My Grace happens to stand out a lot, even from far away. It’d be too easy for the angels to track me down if I moved with you two,” Cas explains. “And before you ask, I’m excellent at remaining hidden, but those hex bags aren’t foolproof when it comes to my Grace, and I’d rather not take any chances with your lives.”

“So the angels—they _can’t_ be trusted?” Chuck asks, finally speaking up.

“Well, I don’t know. Uriel isn’t exactly a minor player, if what I’ve heard is true. The fact that he could have been killing the angels means Heaven isn’t as against the apocalypse as they seem to be—”

“Wait—it was _Uriel?_ ” Sam says, eyes wide. “ _Uriel_ was the one killing the angels?”

“Yes,” Cas answers.

“Okay, you mind taking this one from the top, Cas? Because apparently we’ve been left outta the loop again,” Dean says, irritated. Inias hadn’t taken the time to explain why he had a new partner, and it wasn’t as though Sam and Dean cared enough to ask what happened to Uriel, but still.

“I—we don’t have time for this,” Cas says. “The prophet knows everything—he’ll be able to explain it to you. I need to go.”

“Wait,” Dean says, and to Sam’s surprise, the irritation that was in his brother’s voice mere seconds ago has dissipated completely in the face of Cas’s imminent departure. “Where are you going?”

Cas huffs. “Anywhere but here,” he answers. “I need to find a place to hole up, set up the correct warding sigils until I can be sure that Lilith isn’t looking for me. And now that I’ve been in the same room as a prophet for several minutes, I’m sure the angels are preparing to search for me.”

“Why do they want you so bad, Cas?” Sam asks.

“Hell if I know,” Cas says, shrugging. He hesitates a moment before approaching Sam. “I marked Dean’s ribs with masking sigils when we first met, to keep him off the radar of anything supernatural. I hadn’t anticipated that he’d be traveling with you all the time, making my precautions pretty much useless. Would you mind if I marked you now?”

“Dude, you just went for it when it was me, but you ask all nice for Sam?” Dean says, brow raised.

“You stabbed me in the chest. He didn’t,” Cas answers as Sam nods in his direction. Cas moves closer and motions for Sam to get to his feet. Then he puts his fingertips on Sam’s chest and says, “This will sting a bit.” He’s not even finished speaking before there’s an excruciatingly painful sensation deep in Sam’s chest, and he has to cry out, wincing.

“A bit?” he gets out through gritted teeth.

“If I told you it’d hurt a lot, I’m sure you would have been more reluctant,” Castiel says nonchalantly. “ _Now_ , I need to go. If you need me to stop him, pray directly to me. I’ve wired your prayers so that they come directly to me, but there’s always a chance that someone else could pass by and overhear.”

“But if we pray to you, you’ll come,” Dean says.

Cas turns and flashes a small smile in Dean’s direction, and then he’s gone.

“Flighty son of a bitch,” Dean mutters. He looks over at Sam and says, “You okay there?”

“Fine,” Sam answers, rubbing his chest. “God, that really hurt.”

“Quit your whining,” Dean says. “All right, Chuck, you ready to go home? We’ll drop you off before we hit the road.”

“Yeah, and you can tell us all about—” Sam starts.

“—what the hell happened with Uriel,” Chuck finishes. “I know.”

The prophet leaves the hotel room first, and as soon as his back is turned to the brothers, Sam looks over at Dean.

“That will never not be freaky,” Dean says before following Chuck out the door.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_Everyone had been prepared for the Devil’s gate to close up again—after all, it couldn’t stay open forever. It was disconcerting how quickly the humans managed it, though. Morale dropped even lower with the news of Azazel’s murder and John Winchester’s escape. Seemed everything was going wrong._

_If Castiel takes the news a bit harder than anyone else, they all assume that it is because he was closer to Azazel than most, but none of them know the truth._

_Most demons don’t know that Dean Winchester was the one to pull the trigger, that John Winchester was the one who restrained Azazel and gave Dean the opening to shoot him. None of them know that Castiel was the one who released John and carried him out of the pit. None of them know that Castiel is the one to blame for his father’s death. Maybe he didn’t pull the trigger himself, but he may as well have done so._

_Lilith doesn’t know the whole truth, but she does know that Castiel found out everything he could about Azazel’s murder. She instructs him to leave the Winchesters alone, because a plan has already been set in motion for another chance at the first seal._

_The other demons are given these orders as well, but Lilith stops by to deliver them personally to Castiel, in hopes that he’ll obey—Castiel has had somewhat of a rebellious streak, and he’s often gotten his way. After all, Azazel was his father and Alastair harbored some strange sort of favoritism toward him._

_Castiel agrees to Lilith’s terms readily enough, saying that he can be patient. He can wait until her scheme has been carried out before exacting revenge. Lilith takes his word because really, what other choice does she have? Over the years, it’s become clear that Castiel cannot be confined to any one realm without sealing it off to all others._

_But soon after Lilith’s departure, Castiel chooses to return to Earth. He claims that it is to collect on some deals, which isn’t true, but it isn’t as though anyone can check on him. After all, each crossroad demon has his own set of contracts—only Crowley knows them all in detail, and the King of the Crossroads has proven to be quite loyal to his creator._

_So Castiel ascends to Earth, despite Lilith’s protests._

_It doesn’t take him long to find the Winchesters. The pair of brothers is tangling with the Seven Deadly Sins, and Castiel sighs, because that is one screwed up family of demons that never should have gotten out of Hell. Dysfunctional and overall unimpressive, he’s almost embarrassed to call them his kin._

_He doesn’t bother lending a hand to either side, choosing instead to watch over the proceedings from afar, get a sense of the two humans and their… their personalities, he supposes._

_He’s so certain that he’ll hate them, so certain that he will never be able to forgive them for taking away someone so important to him, but curiosity—or perhaps it’s fate, destiny pulling him in—makes him move closer, and he lays eyes on Dean Winchester’s soul for the first time._

_At first, he thinks he must be seeing things. It’s impossible for a human soul to burn so bright, colored with a hint of the same pure blue that suffuses Castiel’s own Grace. He’s never seen that hue in any human soul—no man or woman, noble or depraved, rich or poor. He almost cannot look away, drawn in by this anomaly of a soul, and he thinks that he might understand why Alastair looks at him so strangely._

_He departs without contacting the Winchesters and avoids them after that non-encounter, because he doesn’t want to see how clean and bright and beautiful that soul is, not when it’s the one who took his father’s life. That’s too much for him to reconcile._

_Castiel returns to Hell, and life goes on._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

The message is the same every time Crowley thinks he’s gotten through. _I don’t want to see you_. It’s infuriating, but Crowley is tenacious, keeps on until he thinks even _he_ would be annoyed, and tries a couple more times after that.

“What do you want?”

Castiel brings a gust of wind with him when he arrives, and Crowley shivers a little. It’s been at least a decade since he was up here for an extended length of time, and as he’s only been topside for two days, he hasn’t quite adjusted to the cold yet.

“Castiel,” Crowley says, turning around slowly. “You’re a hard man to find.”

“Hard?” Castiel says, tilting his head. “I’d like to think I’m _impossible_ to find. Still, you’ve been amply irritating. What do you want?”

Crowley shrugs. “Oh, I just heard some information passed along the grapevine, thought I might help you out a bit. But you’ve been so unappreciative. I’m not here for my own health, you know.”

Castiel smiles. “Of course you are. If you were doing this solely for my benefit, you would have given up after one continuous day of rejection. No, whatever this is concerns you just as much as it concerns me, I’m sure.”

“Well, then. I’m here to tell you that I know what the final seal is.”

“There are hundreds of seals. Any one of them could be the final one,” Castiel says. “How could you—”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Crowley interrupts, holding up a finger. “Just as there was a first seal that had to be broken before the rest could fall, there’s a last seal that must be broken when the time is right.”

“So if we thwart the demons from breaking the last seal, we win,” Castiel says.

Crowley squints. “Ah, not quite. Because the last seal isn’t exactly something you can just… _prevent_.”

“Don’t be such a tease, Crowley. What is the last seal?”

“Ooh, you’d like me to skip right to the good bit, then.”

“Yes,” Castiel says, impatient.

“Lilith is the final seal,” Crowley says. He pauses for effect before saying, “Specifically, _killing_ Lilith is the final seal.”

“What—so we can’t kill her,” Castiel says, frowning.

“Well you see, what matters most here is _timing_.”

Crowley sees the exact moment that his suggestion clicks, and Castiel says, “So we kill her ahead of time, before the demons have reached sixty-five seals. If the last seal breaks before the correct time, the door will effectively be locked forever.”

“Precisely! Well—at least, it won’t be reachable through the proper channels,” Crowley qualifies.

Castiel waves a hand dismissively. “Any other methods don’t matter at this point in time,” he says. He thinks in silence for a moment, and then he fixes a penetrating gaze on Crowley. “How do I know that you’re telling me the truth?”

“Well, you _could_ check with Lilith, but I doubt you’re on speaking terms with her at the moment,” Crowley says mildly. “Or, you could trust me.”

“I find it difficult to trust you.”

“Oh come on, Castiel. You’re the one who made me, remember?”

“Yes, but I’ve made thousands of demons since. What makes you different?”

Crowley smirks. “I don’t know. But you chose me yourself, didn’t you? I know I was made King of the Crossroads by your recommendation, and you were right, weren’t you? I’ve done a damn fine job so far, if I may say so myself. So if anyone knows what makes me different, surely you do.”

“You make a good argument,” Castiel says. He thinks for a minute before saying, “It’d be useful to have the Colt and the scythe, then, if we’re planning to kill Lilith. The demon blade won’t be enough to kill her, just as it wasn’t enough for Alastair.”

“I don’t have them right now,” Crowley replies.

“When can you have them?”

“Actually, there is one thing,” Crowley says. “I might have uh, temporarily misplaced the scythe.” Castiel stares at Crowley for a long moment, long enough that Crowley turns away and almost starts fidgeting.

“You lost it,” Castiel says flatly.

“It was stolen! I didn’t—”

“Find it,” Castiel says. “You have control over all the deals being made in the world, don’t you? It shouldn’t be a problem. Call me when you have the Colt, and I’ll come get it from you. I need to bring this information to Sam and Dean.”

As soon as he’s finished speaking, Castiel takes off, and Crowley rolls his eyes. “Don’t get any appreciation these days,” he grumbles before preparing to return to Hell.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

It’s near impossible for Castiel to find Dean directly, especially now that he’s marked Sam as well. He chooses an abandoned warehouse in central Ohio, about an hour and a half’s drive away from Kripke’s Hollow, to set up as a meeting place. He puts a few preliminary wards in place before heading off to provide Dean with the address.

He’s been in Dean’s mind before, but this time Dean’s already dreaming when he enters, and it’s a place that Castiel has never seen before. There’s a short dock that leads out over a huge lake, sprawling almost as far as the eye can see—Dean sits at the end of this dock, back to Castiel, with a fishing rod thrown out over the water. A light breeze is blowing, making the surface of the lake sparkle in the soft light. It’s idyllic, peaceful in a way that Castiel hasn’t ever experienced before.

Actually, this place probably doesn’t exist, not outside of Dean’s head, and at this thought, Castiel feels intrusive, like he shouldn’t be allowed in this private place.

But this is important—Dean needs to know.

So Castiel uncloaks himself beside Dean and says, “We need to talk.”

“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” Dean says.

“It’s not safe here,” Castiel says. “Someplace more private.”

“More private? We’re inside my head.”

“Exactly. Someone could be listening,” Castiel says, looking around.

“Cas, what’s wrong?” Dean asks, looking up at him, and Castiel wishes he could explain, but he really doesn’t have time for it. Dean’s dream is open to any other angel. Anyone could be listening in.

“Meet me here,” Castiel says, pressing a slip of paper into Dean’s hand. “Go now.”

He instantly returns to the warehouse, where he gets to work with extra protective wards. When he finishes with the place, he intends to have it all closed up to the point that no supernatural creatures—indeed, not even Castiel himself—would be able to get in or out.

Though—maybe he should wait until the Winchesters are actually here before closing it up that far. There’s the possibility that they won’t make it here, and then Castiel would be trapped indefinitely, until some human stumbled upon him.

While he’s deliberating, he feels the presence of one angel, quickly followed by a second and a third. He finishes the mark that he’d been drawing and cleans his hands with a thought as he straightens. No point in doing up the rest, now that he’s been found.

“You might as well show yourselves. I know you’re here,” he says to the empty warehouse.

“You’re very attuned to our presence,” one angel says, unveiling himself several yards in front of Castiel. The angel is wearing a middle-aged blond woman, dressed well in a neat suit-and-pants combination. “I’m impressed,” she adds.

“Oh, I don’t care what you say. I’m not gonna go easy just because you butter me up,” Castiel says.

A subtle shift in the air gives away the impending appearance of a second angel, so Castiel leaps to his right, just as the angel appears and grabs for him. His blade falls into his grip, and he flips it once, eyes flitting back and forth between the two angels. The second is young, younger than Castiel, possibly younger than Inias as well. Fittingly, he wears the vessel of a young man with a boyish face who can’t be older than twenty-five.

“It will be better for you if you do not resist capture,” the first angel says.

“Hester,” Castiel says, finally reading her name from her Grace.

She looks caught off-guard. “Do you… remember me?”

“Should I?”

“You were a fledgling, hardly old enough to have a proper memory,” she answers, looking concerned.

“No, I don’t remember you,” Castiel admits. “I read your name.”

“Interesting, that you have that capability.”

Castiel shrugs. “I have quite a few capabilities. Now, are we going to just stand here and talk all day, or did you actually want to—”

He senses the third angel in the room approaching and spins away, between Hester and the young angel until he’s put a safe distance between himself and the three angels. Sure enough, the third angel, this one seemingly just as young and inexperienced as the second, stands right by the place where Castiel had been positioned.

“Really?” Castiel says, looking at Hester with his brows raised. “You’d think you would have a more sophisticated method of attack, especially after the first time that failed.”

Hester smirks. “We’ll take you, don’t worry about that. You’re a runner, not a fighter. And you can’t fight us off, not on your own. And you don’t have help, do you? We didn’t see Anael anywhere near here.”

“She’s within reach,” Castiel bluffs. “Should be arriving with the Winchesters any minute now. She’s—she may not be as powerful as the three of you combined, but I’m sure your two toddler friends here will be no match for her.”

“Do not debase us,” the second angel says. “I am Samandriel, and this is Sachiel.”

“Fledglings, the both of you,” Castiel says. “Was this the best that Heaven could muster?”

“A dirty little half-breed like _you_ hardly warrants our best,” Hester says.

Castiel laughs. “Was that supposed to hurt my feelings? If so, your trash talk needs a little work. After all, I may not have been born in Hell, but I _was_ raised there.”

“Enough talk,” Hester says. “Will you surrender?”

“What do you think?”

Hester’s eyelid twitches, lip curling in distaste, and then she’s lunging forward, blade in hand. Castiel meets her blade with his and skips to the side, but Samandriel happens to be coming at him from that side, so he ducks under the blow and counters with his own. Samandriel parries and grabs at Castiel’s arm, but Castiel falls back and to his left, avoiding a swing at his lower ribs from Sachiel.

Samandriel advances quickly—too quickly for his own good. Castiel takes advantage of Samandriel’s approach and thrusts his blade at Samandriel’s weapon-wielding left arm. Samandriel drops his blade and recoils—not yet accustomed to pain on the physical plane, Castiel observes.

But this leaves Castiel weaponless, and as Hester comes at him, he dances to the side, toward Sachiel. The young angel takes two swings at him, and Castiel evades both of them before swerving in and grasping Sachiel’s wrist. He twists, hard, and the weapon falls out of Sachiel’s grip and into Castiel’s waiting hand.

Castiel shoves Sachiel away from him and spins around just in time to meet Hester’s blade with his newly acquired one.

Leaning in close, Hester says, “Give in. You won’t win.”

“I’ve already disarmed your two fledglings,” Castiel says before backing away from Hester.

But Samandriel has regained his weapon, holding it in his right hand, and Castiel sees that the left arm has stopped bleeding. However, it likely will take some time for the nerve damage to correct itself, despite the angel’s Grace-sped healing.

Hester comes in with a series of quick blows, technique that Castiel honestly has never come into contact with. Hester really was right on the money when she said that he was a runner, not a fighter—Castiel has never really needed to fight because he could typically use his influential position in Hell to get his way, and on Earth nothing could threaten him.

He continues giving ground, blow after blow, and Samandriel and Sachiel aren’t even doing anything, just standing on the side and watching as Hester goes all out. Castiel manages to hold out for another ten, fifteen passes before finally getting pinned to the wall behind him, Hester’s blade to his throat.

“Fine,” Castiel says, out of breath. “Kill me.”

“We don’t want to kill you,” Hester says, smiling sinisterly, and then she’s grasping him by the shoulder and murmuring a quick incantation.

The familiar sensation of having his wings restrained comes over Castiel, and he slumps as much as he can without slitting himself open on Hester’s blade. Then Hester’s grip tightens, and she takes flight, ripping him out of his vessel and carrying him along with her.

They enter Heaven through the gates, and Castiel had vague memories of this place, but he hasn’t been back in millennia, doesn’t accurately remember much. And what he does remember could very well have changed in all this time. They stop moving in a place that Castiel definitely does not recognize, and though Hester releases him, the restraints remain on his wings.

“What do you want with me?” Castiel asks.

Before Hester can reply, a different voice chimes in. “We want information.”

Castiel waits until the angel has appeared before replying, “What information? I don’t know anything important.”

“A likely story,” the new angel says. Castiel knows from her voice and the way she carries herself that she is powerful, more so than Hester. “You can go,” she says to the other angels in the meantime, and in the blink of an eye, Castiel and the new angel are left alone.

Naomi, he discovers, is her name. “What information?” Castiel repeats.

“What are you trying to do?” Naomi asks.

“Right now? Trying to stay alive.”

“Don’t be smart with me. What are you trying to accomplish by helping the Winchesters?”

Castiel shrugs, and the motion pulls at his bound wings uncomfortably. “Isn’t that obvious? I like having Earth as my sandbox. I’d like to keep playing in it, so it’d probably be for the best if I stopped you from taking all the sand out of it.”

Naomi eyes him doubtfully. “How have you managed to defy Fate and live to this day?” she asks next.

Castiel doesn’t answer this question because he doesn’t actually know why they haven’t sent Atropos after him already. He’s been entirely cloaked most of the time and actually hasn’t caught sight of Lachesis recently, either.

“Answer me,” Naomi says impatiently.

“No, I don’t think so. You’ve hit the quota already.”

Naomi smiles and pulls a thin, jagged dagger from the ether, murmuring a few words in order to make Castiel vulnerable, more receptive to pain.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Time blends together amidst the pain—minutes blend into hours, which blend into days.

In this realm, time seems to pass quickly, much like the speed of Hell. But it probably goes according to a different conversion factor, and it’s probably separate from the rest of Heaven, but Castiel honestly has no idea. He tried counting to keep track toward the beginning, but then Naomi had taken an apparatus and started screwing into his forehead, and he’d lost concentration.

Now, she twists the screw farther inward, and he lets out another long moan, because fuck it all, it hurts, and he really can’t suppress his reaction to the pain.

“Tell me how you’ve been defying Fate and getting away with it,” Naomi demands, for the who-knows-how-many-eth time.

Castiel flicks his eyes up to her face and forces himself to grin. “Fuck you,” he rasps.

Naomi smiles, tight and controlled, and says, “Fine. It’s all fine. I have all the time in the world, after all. I suggest you reconsider and start phrasing your response sooner rather than later.”

With that, she takes off.

Castiel shifts feebly, but the motion only hurts him more. He’s strapped onto a cross— _pinned_ on, really, with bolts going through both of his shoulders, wrists, palms, thighs, and feet. The screw that’s protruding from his forehead thankfully hasn’t gone all the way through him. He knows that it wouldn’t kill him, but it would certainly hurt like hell.

He chuckles at his own joke.

Then there’s a sharp intake of breath, and Castiel really can’t be blamed for not hearing the angel’s arrival—he’s in more than a little bit of pain.

“Castiel.”

Castiel lifts his head as much as he can to look at the newcomer. He seems familiar, like Castiel knew him in a previous life. His Grace looks a familiar shade of yellow, almost golden, glimmering and shifting with restless energy.

“Castiel, I’m so sorry,” he says, voice breaking on the last word. “I… I should have been there. I should have paid more attention.”

“Who are you?” Castiel would ordinarily just read his name, but it’s too difficult now, when he’s in constant pain. The last thing he wants to do right now is focus on anything.

“You don’t recognize me?”

Castiel sighs. “I am getting very tired of that question and all of its variations.”

“I’m Balthazar.”

The name rings a bell. Brief glimpses of memories, so repressed that Castiel had almost forgotten he had them, flash through his mind—running around in Joseph’s garden, running into Anael’s arms to escape in that chasing game they played, racing through the realms of Heaven and trying to be the fastest…

“This should never have happened to you,” Balthazar says, pulling Castiel back into the present, and the angel is close enough now and that he can reach out and touch Castiel’s face.

“I remember you,” Castiel says.

Balthazar smiles a little, but the expression doesn’t stay on his face for long, and his gaze drops down. “I did not think they would hand you over to Naomi, to be honest,” he says. “I’d assumed that they would just hold you, like they did Alastair.”

Castiel frowns. “They tortured him, Balthazar. He wasn’t simply restrained. He was tortured at length by Raphael himself, before they gave up on him.”

“How—is that what he told you?”

“It’s the truth.”

Balthazar looks like he’s about to argue, but he stops and says, “Well, it isn’t that difficult to believe. I’m looking right at you, strung up here just because you’re a half-demon, and he was a full-on demon.”

After a pause, Castiel says, “Is it known in Heaven, what the last seal is?”

“Of course it is.”

“So you know that Lilith must be killed ahead of time, if we are to stop Lucifer from rising.”

Balthazar considers this and answers, “Yes, that would work.” He squints at Castiel and adds, “I wonder why no one in Heaven has considered this yet.”

“Yes. That _is_ strange, isn’t it?” Castiel answers. “Unless Heaven doesn’t want the apocalypse to be averted. Unless Heaven _wants_ Lucifer to rise, wants the world to end.”

“Nonsense,” Balthazar says. “Why would we want the world to end?”

“Paradise for everyone? Relief of all responsibilities?” Castiel suggests. “I don’t know. All I know is that someone in Heaven, someone high up in the chain of command, isn’t as opposed to the apocalypse as he pretends to be. Don’t you find it strange that Uriel could have killed so many angels without being caught? Wouldn’t it make more sense if someone was turning a blind eye? I saw him myself—I couldn’t have been the only witness.”

“Maybe you’re right. But what can we do? You said yourself that he must be high in the chain of command. That means he’ll be powerful, too. More powerful than either of us.”

“I’m not asking you to single him out for battle—that’d be suicidal,” Castiel says.

“Then what are you asking of me?”

“I need you to do what I could not—tell Sam and Dean the truth. Tell them what the last seal is, and how they can use it to prevent the cage from opening.”

“We’ve been given explicit orders not to do that.”

“See? This is exactly what I’m—”

“It’s because they don’t want to reveal the last seal to the demons,” Balthazar interrupts. “Speaking it outside of Heaven will only make the information more available—”

“That’s a lie,” Castiel breaks in. “That’s so much bullshit that I hardly know where to begin—” he stops himself, takes a deep breath, and says, “I found out about the last seal through a demon, Balthazar. And he heard about it through some other demons, one of which is close to Lilith. So trust me—Lilith knows that she is the final seal.”

“But—”

“And that little meeting she held with Sam in Kripke’s Hollow? I was listening in, and she said that she’d give up the whole gig, give up on the apocalypse, breaking the seals, everything. I thought that that was a strange offer at the time, but then I heard what the last seal was, and now it makes sense, doesn’t it? She doesn’t want to die, so she doesn’t want to continue breaking seals.”

Balthazar turns away. “I… I want to believe you. But this is only your word. I can’t just take it at face value. You’ve—you’ve been in Hell far longer than you’ve been in Heaven or on Earth, and I—”

“So you don’t trust me,” Castiel says.

“No, but I—”

“What was the point of all this, if you weren’t going to help me anyway? Was this a pity visit?” Castiel asks.

The angel doesn’t answer.

“Okay, then. Leave.”

Balthazar’s head shoots up at this. “Castiel—”

“You won’t help me, even though you have the capability. I don’t want to talk to you anymore. Leave me alone,” Castiel says, closing his eyes.

“Castiel, that—that isn’t fair. You’re asking me to go against direct orders.”

Castiel remains silent.

“You can’t try to manipulate me like this,” Balthazar says.

“I’m not,” Castiel says. “I just fail to see the point in talking to you if you aren’t going to help me. I don’t want or need your pity.”

A long silence follows his words, but Castiel keeps his eyes closed. Finally, he hears the flapping of wings and knows that Balthazar has gone.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

“You are one annoying little bug, aren’t you?” Gabriel says, appearing before Anna. “What’s up?”

“It’s Castiel. He’s gone.”

“Gone?” Gabriel says, lifting an eyebrow. “Are you sure he’s not just hiding? He’s very skilled at that.”

“No, he’s really gone,” Anna says. “Yesterday, I came across the Winchesters heading to some location in Ohio, so I tailed them for a while. They eventually stopped at a warehouse, where they found his vessel. Castiel is gone. They took the vessel, but I stayed at the warehouse. There was a fight there, between at least three angels, including Castiel. He can’t have gotten away.”

“So… you think he’s been taken prisoner,” Gabriel says.

“Yes.”

“Take me to this warehouse.”

Anna nods and takes flight, returning to that warehouse in Ohio. It’s almost painful to be here, to know that if she’d found this place earlier, she might have been able to help her child.

Gabriel looks around for a minute, and she wonders what he’s thinking.

Then he says, “He was taken to Heaven, all right.”

“How do you—”

“Everything, dead or alive, has a memory. These walls remember a battle between angels. Four, actually, but you were close.”

“So he’s in Heaven, then,” Anna says wearily, and she’d thought that maybe she would feel a little better after knowing for sure, but having her suspicions confirmed only scares her. “Help me, Gabriel.”

“Sorry! No can do.”

“What? Why not?”

“Mike and Raph have been waiting for me to return, I know it. I’m not gonna go back up there because Michael alone would be powerful enough to trap me, but the both of them? No way I’ll be getting out, if I go back. And I am not about to go back up there only to be imprisoned.”

Anna glares at the archangel. “Man up and take some responsibility, why don’t you?” she says. “You’ve been hiding out here, like a scared little mouse, for thousands of years. Don’t you think it’s about time you returned to the board?”

“Hey, I’m working, okay? I’m slowing down all this seal-breaking business, giving you guys time to get your shit together. But I’m only one angel, and there are hundreds of seals that the demons could be going for,” Gabriel says. “I’d love to help, but I’m helping already! And besides, who else would be as effective at stopping seal-breaking as I am?”

“Gabriel, you can’t just—”

“No, _you_ can’t just tell me what to do. Try all you want, but you can’t _make_ me do anything.”

Before Anna can say any more, Gabriel takes flight. “You have _got_ to be joking,” she says to the empty warehouse. But she doesn’t have the heart to try and chase down an archangel, and she probably wouldn’t be able to keep up for long, anyway.

She takes a moment to compose herself and then takes flight, with an eye out for the tracker that she placed on the Impala. It’s moving along a highway, and the first thing Anna notices is that the backseat is empty—Jimmy Novak is not with them. Oh, no.

“Hey, guys,” she says, landing in the backseat.

Dean gives an undignified yelp, and the Impala swerves. “Jeez,” he grumbles, straightening the car out.

“Smooth,” Anna comments, smiling.

“You ever try calling ahead?”

“I like the element of surprise.”

“Well, you look terrific.”

“Thanks—I _feel_ terrific. Or at least, I would, if you hadn’t let Jimmy get away.”

“Hey, talk to ginormo here,” Dean says, pointing at Sam.

Anna looks over at Sam and frowns, because his soul seems darker, swirling with unrest. “Sam,” she says. “You seem different.”

“Me? I don’t know,” Sam says, scoffing. “A haircut?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Anna says, taking a more careful look at him. Sam turns away, and Anna switches her attention back to Dean. “So, what’d Jimmy tell you? He remember anything?”

“Why? What’s going on?” Dean asks.

“It’s Cas. He… he’s been dragged back to Heaven.”

“Oh, shit,” Dean breathes.

“Yeah, it’s bad. Painfully, awfully bad. I don’t know how they could have caught up with him, but—”

“Cas said he had something to tell me. Something important.”

“What?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does Jimmy know?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t _think_ so?” Anna says. “Whatever it is, it’s huge. You gotta find out for sure.”

“That’s why we’re going after Jimmy,” Sam says.

“That’s why you shouldn’t have let him go in the first place,” Anna counters. “He’s probably dead already.” The boys don’t respond, and she sighs. “I’ll… see what I can do. Send a prayer my way if by some miracle you find Jimmy and he’s still alive.”

She takes off without waiting for them to respond.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

All those years in the pit did nothing to mute Castiel’s Grace, and Balthazar finds himself just as irresistibly drawn in as he was when he was practically a child. To be honest, he’d been worried that Castiel in reality would not live up to the Castiel of his dreams and memories—after all, isn’t it common knowledge that imagination creates an ideal that reality cannot emulate?

Castiel’s Grace is as pristine as it was the day Balthazar first saw him, and it hurts to be at odds with him, hurts to be snubbed by him. But Balthazar _couldn’t_ just take his word for it, could he?

After their conversation, Balthazar went to speak with Inias for a while, because Inias had spent more time on Earth than the other angels, and he had a better chance of understanding the situation there. Inias had little insight to offer, but he did say that the demons knew an alarming amount.

Balthazar deliberates for a while before descending to Earth. Maybe if he captures a demon…

“Balthazar,” a voice says from somewhere behind him, and Balthazar doesn’t slow his flight, but he does glance backward to see who’s following him.

“Anael?”

He grimaces and says, “Yes. Can we talk?”

Balthazar lands in a cold, barren field. They’re somewhere in Russia, he thinks. “How did you find me so quickly?” he asks when Anael lands beside him.

“I’m desperate,” Anael says. “I’ve been hoping for you or Inias to return to Earth. Castiel has—”

“—been captured,” Balthazar finishes. “I know.”

“You know, and you haven’t—”

“He’s been aligned with Hell for a long time, Anael. As much—”

“Please don’t call me Anael. I don’t—I much prefer Anna.”

Balthazar blinks a few times and says, “Fine. But I haven’t tried to free Castiel because I can’t exactly trust him on blind faith.”

“Then trust him because I say so,” Anna says. “I want to help him, but I can’t do it on my own.”

Balthazar remembers the conversation he had with Inias back at Sandover, remembers asking Inias about his instincts. He’d never even paused to consider his own instincts, and now, they’re telling him to go with Anna, to rescue Castiel. His entire being had pulsed with wrongness at seeing something so dear to him strung up in that torture realm, and leaving Castiel there… shouldn’t have been possible. Not if his gut instinct was right.

“Balthazar,” Anna prods.

“I’ll do it. I can do it,” he says.

“Okay. I’ve already thought up a plan. If Heaven is how I remember it was, this should work. I’m going to storm the gates. The majority of the angels will come to defend Heaven against me, and you’ll have an opening to reach Castiel. Typically the prisoner will be watched over by two angels, whichever two reach him first. So as long as you make sure that you are one of the two and then dispatch the other—”

“But doesn’t this mean you’ll be captured? I doubt you’ll be able to hold off against the whole Host of Heaven, no matter how quick you are,” Balthazar says.

“It doesn’t matter what happens to me,” Anna replies. “I need you to promise me that you will get Castiel out, whatever the cost.”

Balthazar hesitates before saying, “I promise.”

“Thank you.”

“We should probably go now, then,” Balthazar says, remembering the pained look on Castiel’s face when he’d first arrived. Castiel had done a good job of masking his discomfort when they started talking, but before Balthazar announced his arrival, the naked agony had been almost too much to behold.

Anna nods. “I’ll give you five minutes to get in position.”

“Good luck.”

Balthazar takes off again, returning to Heaven through one of the cracks that serve as alternate exits for those permitted to leave Heaven—it’s a hassle to go through the gates every time because the traffic of souls there is typically pretty high.

He makes it to the realm where Castiel is being held and is relieved to find it empty. Then he calls for Inias, because who better to “guard” Castiel than another sympathizer?

“Hello, brother,” Inias says when he lands. “What is the matter?”

“Nothing,” Balthazar replies. “I just thought we could visit Castiel together.”

“I suppose,” Inias says.

They enter the ring, and Balthazar immediately sees that Castiel’s condition is worse—Naomi has definitely been back. The screw in his forehead is still there, as are most of the bolts, but the ones in his shoulders have been removed, so that his weight is supported by the bolts in his hands and thighs. His body sags there, limp, and Balthazar thinks he has never wanted to hurt someone so badly as he does now.

“What are you doing here?” Castiel asks, and even his voice is weaker than it was the day before.

“We’re here to visit,” Inias answers.

Castiel’s eyes flick between the two of them. “It is unnecessary,” he says. “Leave me.”

And then there’s a shift in the air. Angels stream past, and Inias starts to take off, but Balthazar grabs onto him to stop him.

“We need to guard Castiel,” Balthazar says, and Inias nods. Then Balthazar turns back and gets to work removing the screw from Castiel’s forehead.

“Wait—what are you doing?” Inias asks as Castiel cries out in pain.

“We’re getting him out of here.”

“ _We?_ ”

“Yes,” Balthazar says, continuing to spin the screw.

“Stop—stop, stop, stop!” Castiel screams.

“I’m sorry,” Balthazar says, voice raised over Castiel’s. “This needs to come out before I take you off.”

Castiel falls silent at this, face screwed up in pain, and lets Balthazar work until the screw is removed. Then Balthazar steps to the side and starts tugging at the bolt in Castiel’s left hand.

“Help me,” he says to Inias, who is still just staring at him. “We don’t have much time.”

“Balthazar, I—you—we’ll be hunted for this,” Inias says.

Balthazar doesn’t even bother looking at Inias as he replies, “You told me that you see someone you would be willing to follow in Castiel. If you’re willing to follow him, why aren’t you willing to help him?”

“It’s so simple when you say it like that, but this isn’t just any favor. Our orders—”

“If you’re not going to help, stand aside,” Balthazar says, as he finally manages to pull the bolt free of Castiel’s left hand. He takes Castiel’s hand and places it on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Castiel grinds out, bracing his weight on Balthazar.

Balthazar starts to move toward Castiel’s right hand, but Inias is there already, tugging at the bolt—they’re marked so that they must be removed by hand. Balthazar leans down slightly to get a better grip on the one at Castiel’s left thigh.

It takes them about two more minutes to actually free Castiel from the rack, and he collapses into Balthazar’s arms.

“We need to go,” Balthazar says.

“I won’t go with you,” Inias says, shaking his head. “I can’t—Heaven is my home, and these—these are my brothers. You’ll have to go alone.”

“But if you stay, they’ll punish you.”

“Regardless, I won’t leave.”

Balthazar thinks quickly, sets Castiel down for a moment and draws his blade. “Let me at least free you of blame, then,” he says. Inias nods and steps forward, drawing his own blade. Balthazar brings the pommel of his weapon down over Inias’s head, and after Inias has crumpled to the ground, he adds a wound to Inias’s side, for good measure. Then he stows his blade and lifts Castiel again.

“Why are you doing this?” Castiel whispers as Balthazar takes flight.

“Because it doesn’t matter that you’ve been in Hell all this time,” Balthazar answers, heading for one of the cracks in the boundary, and thankfully the other angels haven’t come this way yet. “You’re still my little brother. My Little One.”

Castiel closes his eyes and smiles weakly, and Balthazar gently carries him down to Earth.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Dean watches in disbelief as light passes from Claire back into Jimmy, and he’d expected a bit less lightshow and a bit more black smoke, but Jimmy—Castiel?—is already getting back to his feet and walking toward Dean.

“I’m going to take you back to the salvage yard now,” he says.

“What about Claire and Amelia?” Dean asks, backing away from Cas’s raised hand.

“Balthazar will take care of them.” As Cas talks, the annoying angel with a British accent whom Dean met at Chuck’s appears. “Now, come with me. We don’t have much time.”

Cas’s hand rests on Dean’s shoulder for a moment, and then he’s looking at the living room at Bobby’s. It’s the middle of the night, and Bobby’s nowhere to be seen—probably sleeping upstairs.

“Cas, what happened to you?” Dean asks.

“Heaven doesn’t like it when people swim against the current, which is precisely what I’ve been doing for the past few months, helping out the two of you,” Cas answers.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that Castiel got his arse handed to him by the big, bad angels,” Balthazar says, walking in from the kitchen. “It also means that someone here is a weak link. Castiel’s managed perfectly well on his own so far, so which one of you two gave him away?”

“ _What?_ ” Dean says. “We didn’t—”

“Don’t bother, Dean,” Cas interrupts, and he turns away from Dean to face Balthazar, so Dean doesn’t get to see what face he’s making. Either way, when he turns back around, Balthazar doesn’t say anything. “Before I was captured by the angels, I had some information to give you.”

“Yeah. What was it?”

“The last seal. It’s Lilith,” Cas answers.

“What do you mean, it’s Lilith?” Sam asks, and figures it would take the mention of Lilith to make him perk up and finally join the conversation. His cheeks are still faintly stained with blood, and Dean thinks he might be sick if he thinks about how it got there.

“Lilith _is_ the final seal. Killing her after sixty-five seals have been broken will open the door of Lucifer’s cage,” Cas explains.

“Okay, then. So we should kill her now, right?” Sam says. “Before they’ve gotten enough seals?”

“Yes,” Cas says. “And there’s another important thing. Ruby is working for Lilith—has been since she returned from Hell.”

“No, you’re lying. She isn’t,” Sam protests.

“I’ve been in Hell. I wasn’t there when she got the assignment, but—”

“What assignment?” Dean asks.

“She was told to get close to Sam, gain his trust. I didn’t know why at the time, but now I think she was specifically preparing Sam to kill Lilith when the time was right,” Cas says.

“No!” Sam says. “Look, she’s been helping me for months.”

“Yeah. Maybe because they knew it would take time for you to be strong enough.”

“That’s not true—she wouldn’t _do_ that.”

“You’re under the influence of her blood. I don’t think you get a say,” Balthazar says.

“And speaking of blood-drinking, you saw what—what it did to me,” Dean says, stumbling a little because he realizes he just gave away that he _does_ remember what happened, damn it. “How could you keep going?”

“You guys don’t understand. I’m only— _Ruby_ is only trying to help. She’s been helping me get stronger, strong enough to ice Lilith, and isn’t that exactly what we want right now?”

“Yeah, except where is she right now, huh?” Dean says. “And don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Maybe I didn’t know what it was all about at the time, but I’ve seen you, how strung out you’ve been. Getting distracted, losing focus—”

“She’s just underground, trying to find Lilith, okay?” Sam says.

“No, Sam, she’s not. I may not be able to find her this very second, but I can guarantee that she is not looking for Lilith. Not right now, anyway,” Cas says.

Dean eyes Cas and asks, “What do you know about where she is right now?”

“I don’t know where she is right now. All I do know is that she’s stalling. She thinks that if she continues in this vein with Sam, he’ll kill Lilith too soon. It makes sense,” Cas reasons.

“No—you aren’t listening. Ruby wants Lilith dead as much as I do. I know it.”

“Well, of course. But you want to kill Lilith to stop the apocalypse. She wants Lilith dead because she wants Lucifer free,” Cas says. “Balthazar, if you could…”

“What do you—” Sam starts to ask, but Balthazar steps forward, clapping a hand on his shoulder, and they vanish.

“ _Hey_ , what—” Dean starts, rounding on Cas.

But Cas is holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “I’m only having Balthazar put him in the panic room. He needs to detox, if he’s been drinking demon blood.”

Dean feels like he’s burning up again at the mere mention of blood, but he only says, “Didn’t the angels fix me when I was—when I—” unable to continue, he looks down at the ground for a second before turning his attention back to Cas, who’s staring right back. “Sorry,” Dean finally gets out.

“So you remember it—all of it,” Cas says, voice devoid of any inflection.

“Yeah,” Dean answers. He remembers it all vividly, almost _too_ vividly, and he wonders if this is what it’s like to be a junkie, always jonesing for another hit, because right now he can’t stop thinking about the taste and texture, the thickness of the liquid that had flowed hot and savory over his tongue.

He waits for Cas to say something, but he doesn’t—at least, not immediately.

After a length of time, Cas sighs, a short, small sound, and shrugs. “I’m just glad it wasn’t permanent.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, except the addiction feels pretty permanent now. It’s just not in control of him anymore. He wants Cas’s blood, wants Cas under him—hell, he just wants _Cas_.

And that’s a terrifying thought, especially because he knows he’s not under the influence right now.

“Anyway,” Dean says, because he needs to talk about something else to get his mind off this track, “I was going to say, weren’t the angels able to fix my—my problem? Couldn’t you or Balthazar just fix Sammy up for us?”

“I don’t know about Balthazar, but I do know for sure that I don’t have that capability. My healing abilities aren’t that great to begin with,” Cas answers. He seems a lot more comfortable with this topic of conversation, too. But Dean doesn’t want to talk about Sam either; it’s painful to think about his brother, going behind his back and trusting a demon, even when the truth has been laid out for him.

“I’ll wait for him to come back up, then,” Dean says, heading toward the kitchen to grab a beer.

Cas stops him with a hand on his shoulder. Dean turns his head to see those blue eyes still fixed on him, unblinking and intense, and he suddenly has this crazy impulse to kiss him. It doesn’t help that he already knows how it feels to have those plump lips pressed against his, how it feels to lick into that lush mouth and take what he wants.

“What?” Dean asks gruffly, pulling back a little.

“It’ll be all right,” Cas says seriously. “I have the means to kill Lilith. Lucifer will not rise.”

“Are you—are you trying to comfort me?”

Cas pauses, looking surprised, and then says, “Yes.”

“Huh,” Dean says. “Well, don’t. My brother’s a junkie—and not just any junkie, a demon blood junkie. Nothing you say is gonna make this crappy situation any better.”

Cas blinks at him once, twice, before vanishing abruptly, and Dean feels like his stomach just dropped right out of him.

“Shit.”


	4. Culmination

It’s been a few days, and Dean doesn’t think he can take it anymore. Since the third day, Sam hasn’t stopped making noise—either he’s banging around in the panic room, or he’s shouting to people who can’t possibly be there. Dean went down to the basement just after sunrise yesterday because Sam had been shouting about Alastair, but when he looked inside, he hadn’t seen anything. Balthazar had gone in to double check and reported that Sam was alone.

Hallucinations, then. Dean’s chest tightens with unwanted sympathy—Sam brought this down on himself, and Dean really shouldn’t feel sorry for him, but he’s—he’s _Sam_.

Soon after Cas left, Balthazar had rejoined Dean in the living room, and Dean had asked if he could do anything to help Sam along. Balthazar had answered that he could maybe suppress the cravings for a short period of time, but he wouldn’t be able to manage a permanent fix. Dean had only been fixed because an archangel—Raphael—had worked on him. Otherwise, Balthazar said, Dean would still be blood-starved.

A piss poor job that archangel did, Dean thinks now, because maybe he’s not _starved_ for blood, but he’s definitely craving it. The thought of drinking anyone else’s blood is revolting, but Dean can’t make himself feel any revulsion toward it if it’s Cas’s blood he’s thinking about, and isn’t that just sick?

Balthazar appears, seated comfortably on the couch, just as another muffled banging sound comes from downstairs. Dean groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, because it hurts to hear Sam struggling.

From his seat at the desk, Bobby asks Balthazar, “No luck finding Gabriel?”

Bobby had joined them half an hour after they arrived, and Dean had filled him in on everything—Sam, the demon blood, Lilith, and Ruby. Bobby had taken the news pretty well, meaning he’d gone into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of whiskey, poured three glasses, and asked matter-of-factly, _so what do we do now?_ Balthazar had explained the archangel spiel and said that Gabriel was the only archangel they had a chance of persuading, and then he’d gone out to find the guy.

“Well, there wasn’t much hope to begin with,” Balthazar responds, shrugging. “He hasn’t shown his face for millennia on any plane of existence, so it wasn’t like he’d suddenly show up now.”

As Balthazar finishes speaking, Dean hears wings flapping behind him and turns around, fully expecting to see Cas, but the face he sees isn’t the one he’s expecting, though he does recognize it.

“You!” he snarls, lunging forward, but someone’s grabbing onto his arm, holding him back, and Dean sees that it’s Cas. “Let me go, Cas. It’s the Trickster!” Why are you—”

“No, Dean, it’s Gabriel,” Cas interrupts. “It’s Gabriel.”

“Gabri—you mean Gabriel, the archangel?” Dean asks, and when he glances over at Balthazar for confirmation, he sees that the angel is staring at the newcomer in shock and disbelief.

“The one and only,” the Trickster—or rather, _Gabriel_ —says, smirking. “Now, where’s that lovely brother of yours that Castiel won’t stop blabbing about?”

Dean shoots a look at Cas before saying, “You gonna fix him?”

“Sure! Don’t you trust me?” Gabriel says with a wide smile. Dean glares at him, and he says, “Okay, fair enough. Look, I’ve got no reason to hurt you. And besides, I’ve only ever wanted to help you two. Mystery Spot was just to prepare Sam for having to let go of you—that was what you wanted too, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t wanna die upwards of a hundred times,” Dean says.

“Well yeah, but I _am_ the Trickster. I had to have fun _somehow_.”

“Anna told me that if I ran into trouble, he would be able to help,” Cas says. “I don’t exactly trust him, but if you want to get out of this _crappy_ situation, I can’t imagine praying for help from Michael or Raphael would be a better option.”

Dean catches the dig at him, but he’s not about to apologize where Balthazar and Gabriel can hear him, so he bites back his words and says, “Fine. He’s downstairs in the panic room. But—” Before he can finish, Gabriel’s gone. “Son of a bitch!” Dean says, and hurries for the stairs. He’s in the basement a moment later.

“Don’t open the door yet, Dean-o!” Gabriel barks from within, over Sam’s shouting.

Cas is standing beside Dean in the next moment, and Dean looks around to see if Balthazar followed too, but he’s not in the room.

“Look, Cas, I—”

“I didn’t do it for you,” Cas says, cutting Dean off. “I figure if we can clear Sam’s head, he’ll be more likely to escape Ruby’s influence.”

Dean tries not to comment, but the thought of Cas pretending to be doing this for any reason other than for Dean irks him too much for him to keep his silence. “Cas, don’t kid yourself,” he says.

“I’m not… kidding myself.”

Dean shakes his head and turns toward Cas. “I’m not stupid, okay? Give me some credit. I said you couldn’t make the situation any better, so you brought an archangel here to prove me wrong.”

“It wasn’t _only_ to prove you wrong,” Cas tries to deny, but they both know that that’s a lie.

“Why are you doing this?” Dean asks.

“To stop the world from ending.”

Dean shakes his head again, a quick motion, and says, “Don’t give me that bullshit answer. Why are you helping me? Why did _you_ decide to raise me when the angels were gonna do it anyway? I already know all that crap about God’s work was a bunch of lies, so why did you do it?”

“Because I was there. Because I could. Does it matter?”

“Yes! Why do you think I’m asking?”

“Why do you even care? Either way, you ended up topside.”

Dean realizes when he opens his mouth to reply that he and Cas have drifted closer together, and if he really wanted to, it’d be so easy to just lean forward and fall into Cas. Despite his instinct to back away, he pointedly stands his ground, staring back at Cas. “It matters because I don’t know your motive, and I need to.”

“But you already trust me, so there isn’t any point in asking me for my motive.”

“I don’t—”

“I know you trust me, Dean. You trusted my judgment when I chose to bring Gabriel in to help Sam,” Cas says. “I know how important Sam is to you. You wouldn’t trust just anyone when it comes to him.”

“Okay, maybe you have a point, but I—”

“You trust me, despite not knowing my motives. Do you even know why you trust me?” Cas asks. When Dean doesn’t answer immediately, he says, “You don’t know, do you? You don’t know why you trust me, so maybe I don’t know why I trust you.”

“No, you’re wrong. I do know why I trust you,” Dean says. “I trust you because you’ve gotten me outta a few tight spots, not the least of which was Hell.”

“But that wasn’t enough for Ruby to earn your trust, and she saved _Sam’s_ life.”

“Yeah well, she’s a demon,” Dean says.

“And I’m half a demon,” Cas counters.

Dean has nothing to say to that. And then the door to the panic room swings open, and Dean instantly takes a big step backwards, putting some more room between himself and Cas.

“Here’s Sammy!” Gabriel calls out as Sam emerges from the panic room.

He looks a lot better already—the dark bags under his eyes have faded considerably, and he has a slightly apologetic look on his face, a look that Dean hasn’t seen in a while. He knew that Sam had been drifting away, and part of him had been a tiny bit worried that it hadn’t been _just_ the demon blood, that Sam himself was getting sick of Dean after all. The relief that washes over Dean at seeing his Sammy back to normal—at least physically—is so much stronger than Dean had thought it would be.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam says quietly.

“Heya, Sammy. You with us again?”

Sam takes a few steps toward Dean and starts lifting his arms, but he stops before they’re fully extended, as though he doesn’t think he’s allowed. Dean feels something inside him _break_ at that—and it’s definitely not his heart, because he’s not a fucking chick—so he closes the distance between them and pulls Sam into his arms.

“S’okay,” he says, slapping Sam’s back a few times.

Sam’s smiling when they break apart, a little disbelieved. “I uh, I shouldn’t have ever let it get that far,” he says. Before Dean can protest that this is getting a little too close to sharing-and-caring, Sam says, “I know, I’m stopping. I just—” he stops and turns to Cas instead. “Thank you.”

Cas just smiles in response.

“Hey, how come Cas gets all the credit when I did all the actual healing?” Gabriel gripes, coming up from behind Sam.

“Because you wouldn’t have helped if he hadn’t gone to get you,” Sam says. “And don’t protest—I know you wouldn’t have.”

“Sure I would have,” Gabriel says, sounding a little like a sullen child.

“So, you ready to get back to work?” Dean says.

Sam nods, and they all head back upstairs. Bobby’s now standing by his desk, and Dean wonders if he’d originally planned on following Dean downstairs. Balthazar must have stopped him, because he’s positioned closer to the opening to the stairs. Did Balthazar try to get Dean and Cas to talk alone on purpose?

But that isn’t important right now—they have bigger problems.

“All right, I’d better be off now,” Gabriel says.

“Hey, wait,” Sam says. “Aren’t you going to help us?”

“I already helped. I put you back on the rails, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but we could use an archangel,” Dean says. “I mean, come on. We’re up against angels _and_ demons trying to bring on the end of days. And you like the Earth, don’t you? Why else would you be M-I-A from Heaven for so long?”

“I’ve already taken a ridiculous risk coming here,” Gabriel says. “I mean, you yahoos aren’t exactly well-hidden. The angels know exactly where you are, despite the carvings all over your ribs.” Sam and Dean exchange looks, and Gabriel says, “Y’know, the Enochian sigil you’ve got etched into your bones that basically screams ‘fuck off’?”

“We know about the sigil,” Dean says irritably.

“Gabriel, Anna is still in Heaven,” Cas says. “If you really wanted to help, you’d get her out and then come back here to—”

“Hey, you listen to me, kiddo. I’ve already done you a huge favor by coming and fixing Jolly Green here,” Gabriel says, jerking his thumb in Sam’s direction. “If anyone should be making demands, it should be me.”

“Gabriel—”

“And what is it with you and Anael asking for favors left and right? Between the two of you, I’ve probably accumulated enough good karma for the next century or so.”

“Look, Heaven isn’t going to do anything to stop the apocalypse,” Sam says.

“So?” Gabriel says, shrugging. “We’ve got you, right? Dean, you got the seals to start falling. How hard can it be to stop them again?”

“Very,” Cas says. “It’d be easy for you to kill Lilith.”

“Maybe, but she’s a hard demon to find,” Gabriel says.

“But you’re an archangel,” Dean says. “Aren’t you supposed to be more powerful than Cas or Balthazar?”

“Cas knows the sigil to hide people from supernatural beings, so it stands to reason that Lilith would, too,” Gabriel points out. “She’s not just powerful; she’s smart. And besides, the demons are working faster than ever. If anyone has any hope to slow them down, it’s me. Demons are getting really good at putting up those anti-angel wards, but they’re easy for me to break through.”

“So can’t you just swoop in for one second and kill Lilith ahead of time?” Dean says.

“We could even find her for you,” Sam says.

“Nope! Sorry, no can do. Anyway, I’ve dilly-dallied here long enough. One more seal—” Gabriel pauses, head tilted slightly to the left, “—no, two more seals just fell because you kept me here with your yapping, so that brings us to a grand total of sixty-one. Toodles!”

Before anyone can speak up, the archangel is gone.

“That son-of-a-bitch,” Dean mutters.

“Is there any way you could find him again?” Sam asks, looking between Cas and Balthazar.

“Not if he doesn’t want to be found,” Balthazar replies. “We should focus on finding Lilith, not Gabriel.”

“Okay,” Dean says, “and how do you expect to do that?”

Balthazar looks pointedly at Sam and says, “We have someone who could lead us right to her.”

Dean makes the connection immediately. “No. We are not going to Ruby for this.”

“ _We_ won’t be going to her for anything. It’ll just be Sam,” Balthazar hedges.

“It could work,” Cas says.

“ _No_ ,” Dean says firmly. “I don’t want Sam going anywhere near that Hell-bitch.”

“Dean, I can do it,” Sam says.

“Then I’ll go with you,” Dean says.

“No, you can’t,” Sam says, shaking his head. “She knows you don’t trust her—she wouldn’t fall for it if you came with me.”

“Then you’re not doing it.”

“Okay, you don’t trust me. I get it,” Sam says. “Just, let me prove myself to you. Please.”

Dean takes a few steps away from the others, into the kitchen. He can’t just let Sam go right back to Ruby, not when it was so difficult to get him away from her. And Gabriel doesn’t seem like he would help out just because Dean asked.

“If anyone could do it, it’s Sam,” Bobby says from behind Dean. “We’ve seen him grow up. He has enough willpower for this.”

Dean doesn’t bother to point out that Sam didn’t have the willpower to stop himself from drinking Ruby’s blood before—what makes Bobby so sure that he wouldn’t go for it this time?

“Give me a minute,” Dean says before turning and heading for the exit.

He goes out onto the porch and stares out over the cars. Does he trust Sam? Before all the shit with the demon blood, he’s certain that the answer would have been an unequivocal yes. But now… now he isn’t so sure.

And it isn’t even that he thinks Sam would choose Ruby over Dean. It’s simply the nature of addiction. Dean can barely trust himself around Cas right now, and he’s only really had—only done it twice. Who knows how long Sam has been sucking down poison? Archangel healing or not, the addiction, the _want_ , is still there. Besides, if Sam doesn’t drink from Ruby, she’ll know something’s up. It’s pretty much guaranteed that Sam will have to relapse in order to get Ruby to trust him.

“Dean, you don’t have to worry.”

Dean jerks in surprise. “You got something against doors?”

“Maybe I like surprising you,” Cas says mildly. They stand in silence for a few minutes, and then Cas says, “You should have more faith in your brother.”

“So you think he can do it,” Dean says, still looking out at the salvage yard.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he loves you,” Cas answers. “I’ve been alive for thousands of years, and I’ve seen a lot. And maybe it’s cliché, but love really is stronger than any other emotion. For you, he’ll do it.”

Dean lets the words sink in for a minute before turning toward Cas. “That _is_ cliché.”

“But it’s true.”

“He’s gonna have to drink more demon blood,” Dean says. “It’s gonna screw with his head. _Ruby_ is gonna screw with his head. She’s been working him for a year, Cas. This isn’t something he’s just gonna get over. He’s used to listening to her.”

“That was when he thought she wanted the same things for the same reasons that he did,” Cas says. “Now that he knows that isn’t the case, he’ll see her manipulation for what it is.”

“Maybe,” Dean says doubtfully.

“I’m sure of it,” Cas says. “He’ll still be Sam, demon blood or not.”

“But I…” Dean pauses.

“You’re thinking about my blood,” Cas observes. “That isn’t the same. None of us could have predicted what that would do to you. We already know how the demon blood affects Sam.”

Cas does have a point. Aside from giving him a disproportionate amount of trust in Ruby—which probably had more to do with the fact that she’d saved his life than anything he was drinking—the demon blood didn’t seem to have too much of an effect on Sam’s judgment.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says. “Let’s go back in. If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it right.”

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

After a long day spent planning, Dean shoos everyone out of the house so that he can have a few words with Sam, alone. Bobby goes into the back to work on some cars, and Castiel stands on the front porch with Balthazar.

 _Castiel_ , a voice whispers, inaudible to human ears.

But Balthazar isn’t human, so he also hears it. He turns to Castiel, frowning. “Did you—did you hear that?” he asks.

 _Castiel_. Louder, this time.

“Yes,” Castiel replies. He recognizes the presence, one that he hasn’t felt for some time, and knows now that it’s Lachesis.

“What is that?” Balthazar asks.

Castiel spreads his wings. “I will investigate. Stay with the Winchesters.”

“But—Cas, what—”

“Trust me, Balthazar. I’m only going to take a peek, and I’ll be back,” Castiel says.

He waits until Balthazar nods at him, albeit hesitantly, before taking off. He flits away from the salvage yard and feels Lachesis following. He isn’t going as fast as he can, and he can tell that she is keeping a respectful distance between them, so he chooses to land a few states over, in an alley behind a diner.

Lachesis touches down ten yards away from him but does not manifest herself corporeally.

“What do you want from me?” Castiel asks.

At his words, Lachesis appears before him. She is smaller than he’d expected, taking the shape of a slim, middle-aged woman with a sharp gaze and solemn expression. “You can detect my presence with much more accuracy than I’d expected,” she says.

“Well, that’s just me, surprising people left and right,” Castiel says flippantly. When Lachesis says nothing, he asks, “Why haven’t you tried to kill me yet?”

“Because it is not my place to kill you; Atropos will be the one to do that.”

“Okay, then why haven’t you tried to bring me back to her yet?”

“It is not the right time,” Lachesis says. “Perhaps you’ve noticed that we have backed away for a decent length of time.”

“Yes—why is that, exactly?”

“Fate is a tricky thing,” Lachesis says. “When you first disturbed the grand plot, Atropos and I believed that it was time to come for you. John Winchester was fated to be _the_ Righteous Man, after all. But Clotho convinced us that there was another possibility, that his son could take up the mantle instead. New threads were spun, and the universe was set on new tracks.

“But then came the siege of Hell, and again, there you were, raising Dean Winchester when you had no right. It was not your duty, not your fate. Then you violated the laws governing energy and matter and put the entire story at risk—we did not know what it was you planned to do with him. To protect the universe, Clotho had to spin new threads for so many people, rewrite fates to accommodate your rash decision. You are familiar with the butterfly effect, yes?”

Castiel nods. “Yeah, sure, I know. And you wanted to kill me for disrupting the natural order, or something.”

Lachesis stares at him for a moment. “Anael spoke with you, then.”

“Yes,” Castiel says with a sigh. “Look, none of this answers my question.”

“We do still need a death—preferably your death—to atone for the mark you left, but it recently became clear to us that you are integral to the path on which the universe is currently set,” Lachesis says. “So we chose to keep our distance in order to wait until you became irrelevant.”

“Okay… what you’re saying is that you’re going to try to kill me when I’m useless,” Castiel says.

“Essentially, yes.”

“Why bother telling me this now?” Castiel asks. “I could just keep running from you—you were unable to catch me in the past.”

“I may not be as quick as you, but there are three of us and one of you. Together, I’m certain we would be able to track you down,” Lachesis says confidently. “Our hope in speaking to you ahead of time is that you will surrender yourself to us, when it is all over.”

Castiel snorts. “That’s unlikely.”

“I ask you to consider it,” Lachesis says. “Atropos has quite the temper. If you surrender to us peaceably, your death will be quick and painless. But if you cause even more trouble than you already have, I cannot guarantee any sort of protection against Atropos’s vindictive nature.”

“I think I’ll take my chances, thanks,” Castiel says.

Lachesis looks a little sad. “I suppose I’d expected as much,” she says. “But you still have time to reconsider our offer. I hope for your sake that you change your mind.”

“Was that all?”

“Yes. You may return to the Winchesters now.”

The Fate disappears, and Castiel can tell that she’s really gone, not just hiding in another plane. He takes a moment to consider actually surrendering himself, but he just can’t see it. If he must die, then he’s going to die fighting.

With this in mind, Castiel makes the short flight back to Singer Salvage Yard.

“What was it?” Balthazar asks as soon as he lands.

Castiel shakes his head. “Couldn’t find it, whatever it was,” he lies smoothly.

Balthazar looks doubtful but says nothing more on the topic. “So, what next?”

“Well, Lilith can’t be killed by the pig sticker Ruby gave Sam and Dean, so we need a better weapon.”

“An angel blade would work perfectly,” Balthazar says.

“Yes, but we know that Lilith’s warding against angels, and I doubt you’d be willing to part with your blade,” Castiel says. “I wouldn’t let mine go lightly, either. So we need a better weapon.”

“Okay,” Balthazar says. “I’m assuming you already know how we can get our hands on such a weapon.”

Castiel nods. “I need to arrange a meeting with a friend named Crowley.”

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_Hell is… well, it sucks. Like it always has. It’s even worse this time around because Alastair’s not the one doing the carving; it’s Lilith. And Lilith is… creative. Vindictive. Angry because Ruby ran away and tried to help the Winchesters._

_It’s hard to think through all the pain, hard to remember her choices and the reasons behind them. She hardly remembers why she chose to help the Winchesters rather than harm them. She does remember that her first act of rebellion against Hell was to strike down three of the Seven Deadly Sins._

_“How many of your own kin have you struck down for the sake of the Winchesters?” Lilith has asked over and over, and honestly, Ruby doesn’t think she could count them even if she wanted to._

_“Please,” Ruby whispers to the empty room—Lilith left hours and hours ago, and Ruby’s been strung up, limbs stretched so tight that it’s a miracle they haven’t fallen off yet. “Please, let me go. I’ll do anything. I promise. I won’t—I won’t come into contact with the Winchesters again.”_

_There’s no response._

_“Lilith, I know you’re listening,” Ruby rasps._

_She’s tried begging before, and half the time Lilith’s appeared, but Ruby’s certain that Lilith is always listening in. It’s not as though that evil bitch has anything better to be doing._

_“Please,” she repeats. “I’m begging you. Let me go.”_

_After a pause, Lilith materializes a few yards away from her. “You called?”_

_“Yes. Lilith, please. I won’t—I won’t ever to go to the Winchesters. Please, just let me go.”_

_“Hmm,” Lilith says, tapping her index finger against her lips in thought. “I’m inclined to believe you.”_

_“Yes!” Ruby says, hope rising up inside her. “Yes, please, believe me.”_

_“I know why you went to the Winchesters,” Lilith says. “I’ve seen Sam Winchester, and I know why you want him. He’s strong and powerful and beautiful, and he has so much potential.”_

_Ruby shakes her head firmly—“No, no, I don’t think that.”_

_“It’s okay,” Lilith says with a small smile. “He does have potential, Ruby. He just needs to be pointed in the right direction.”_

_“What do you mean?” Ruby asks suspiciously._

_“I mean that you can go back to him,” Lilith says. “But you need to understand that he is misguided. He’s been lied to his whole life, made to believe that he needs to save these humans when in fact he could be one of us.”_

_“How can I go back to him?” Ruby asks. “Dean’s been pulled into Hell by now. Sam… Sam will hate anything that is associated with Hell.”_

_“But not you,” Lilith replies. “You tried to help him, didn’t you?”_

_“He wouldn’t trust me.”_

_“You can earn his trust,” Lilith says. “I can help you with that.”_

_“How?”_

_“Oh, say I send a few lower-level demons out to kill him. Say I send you with them. You’d be able to dispatch them easily enough, wouldn’t you?”_

_Ruby feels a flicker of hope—she can leave this prison. She can be trusted by Lilith again._

_“So, what do you say?” Lilith asks. “Will you be one of mine again?”_

_“Yes,” Ruby says. “A thousand times, yes.”_

_“Well, it won’t be that simple,” Lilith says. But she snaps her fingers anyway, and Ruby is released from her bonds. The relief she feels is overwhelming. “You’ll need to change Sam’s priorities around a little. He has all of these silly ideals, but they’re unrealistic, and he needs to let them go. He’s going to want to kill me, for revenge. You can encourage this—it’ll make him more likely to accept your help.”_

_“How will I help him?” Ruby asks._

_“To tap into that potential of his, you’ll need to feed him your blood.”_

_“He’ll never do that,” Ruby says, shaking her head. “How can I—”_

_“Dangle the idea of revenge in front of him,” Lilith says. “Your blood_ will _make him stronger, after all. He’ll probably be able to kill demons with his mind, but that will take quite some time.”_

_“And after he’s agreed to the blood? What then?”_

_“Then you come to me, and I give you your next orders. Do you understand?”_

_“I understand.”_

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

“Honeymoon suite, really?” Ruby says, and Sam steps aside to let her in. “I’m flattered.”

Sam closes the door and lets out a long sigh. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I got here as quick as I could,” Ruby replies.

“I mean the past three weeks,” Sam says. “I’ve been calling you.”

“I’ve been pretty deep in it trying to dig out Lilith. Sometimes I can’t sit around and check my voicemail,” Ruby says, irritable. She looks up at Sam, and her expression softens slightly. “I’m sorry you’re hurting. Really. I had no idea that Dean would do that to you.”

Sam turns his gaze down and does his best to look hurt. “You and me both,” he replies.

He’d told Ruby over the phone that Dean had locked him up in an attempt to detox him from demon blood, which really isn’t all that far from the truth. Of course, he’d had to exaggerate a bit, to make it all seem reasonable. It had sounded so simple when he was planning it out with Dean, Bobby, Cas, and Balthazar, but now he isn’t so sure. Ruby’s been here for him, has helped him through so much…

“You didn’t book this joint just to impress me, did you?” Ruby says.

Sam shakes his head. “Dean’s gonna come after me. And he knows my habits, my aliases, everything. He knows exactly which motel I’d pick.” This much is true.

“Hence the room,” Ruby says.

“Whatever it takes to shake him,” Sam says.

“It won’t be easy. I mean, he knows you better than anyone.”

“Not as well as he thinks,” Sam replies.

Ruby looks up, and Sam steps a little closer to her. “You know, it’s sad,” she says.

“What?”

“That things have gotten this bad between you two,” Ruby says, and suddenly it seems obvious why she would say something like this, why she’d act so sympathetic. She’s been playing him for so long that she knows exactly what to say, and the worst thing is, part of Sam still wants to believe it. Part of him still wants to believe that she’s here for him, that she’s on the right side.

Sam really doesn’t know how to respond to her—it’s hard to imagine what he would have said before, when he still trusted her entirely, so there’s really only one option left. He grabs Ruby by the shoulders and presses her down onto the bed, hovering over her to keep her from sitting up. She looks up at him expectantly, and he slides his hand down along her body until he reaches her ankle sheath, where she stores her knife.

It’s so easy to give in, to bring the knife back up and slice it across her arm, because he remembers how it felt to be hopped up on her blood, how powerful he was. And then he’s dipping down and pressing his mouth to the cut, sucking hard, and oh, _yes_. It’s as perfect as it always was, just a minor tang of sulfur on his tongue to remind him that what he’s doing is wrong.

But like before, it feels so good, _too_ good, too good to stop…

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

“He might not come,” Castiel says.

“Why not?” Dean asks, frowning.

“Because you’re here,” Castiel says. “You’re notorious for killing demons. I shouldn’t have brought you.”

“Then why did you?”

Castiel doesn’t deign to respond to that. Dean fucking knows why Castiel brought him along—because he’d asked to come, and Castiel has a hard time denying him anything.

“Hello, Cas.”

Castiel turns and sees Crowley approaching from several yards away. “Crowley.”

“What is the demon-hating human doing here?” Crowley asks.

“The ‘demon-hating human’ wants to get his gun back,” Dean says.

“Now, now, let’s get a few things straight. It was never _your_ gun. Besides, you don’t have the means to make more ammunition for it, and it just so happens that I do. So this is me _loaning_ the Colt to you. I expect to have it back when this nightmare is all over and done with.”

“Of course,” Castiel says easily, holding up a hand to hopefully silence Dean. “Can we go, now?”

“Go? Go where?” Dean says.

“To Crowley’s residence,” Castiel replies.

Crowley vanishes, and Castiel follows, grabbing Dean by the shoulder to bring him along. They land in a well-sized office, tastefully furnished with dark reds and browns.

“Here we are,” Crowley says, moving behind the desk and pulling open a drawer.

Castiel steps a little closer as Crowley takes out a long, thin box. He opens it up and takes out the Colt. He holds it up for them to inspect before loading it up with six bullets. Then he holds it out to Castiel.

“Thank you, Crowley,” Castiel says.

“No, don’t—” Crowley starts.

But Castiel has already passed the gun to Dean, intending to take flight again. He notices at the last second that Dean has cocked the gun and aimed it at Crowley, so he grabs the barrel of the gun, pointing it up at the roof just in case Dean chooses to shoot anyway.

“Cas, what the—”

“Dean, is that any way to thank someone who’s helped you?” Castiel says.

Crowley smiles, only the tiniest tick at the corner of his mouth giving away his nerves, and says, “Thank you, Cas. It’s nice to know we can still be civilized with each other.” Before Castiel or Dean can reply, Crowley continues, “So, you want to know whether this gun is the genuine artifact, is that the problem?”

“Yeah,” Dean says through gritted teeth.

Crowley motions for Dean and Castiel to come closer and turn around. Castiel turns at Crowley’s instruction, but he has to pull at Dean’s arm to get him to follow suit. Behind them, Crowley claps twice, and the door that they’re now facing opens to admit two demons. Dean stiffens beside Castiel, and the two demons that enter the room have matching looks of surprise and fright on their borrowed faces.

The door swings shut.

Dean lifts the gun and fires, killing one of the demons. The other starts to smoke out, so Castiel flies across the room and stops him, forcing the smoke back into its borrowed meat. He goes right on ahead and smites the demon, and the body falls to the ground, lifeless.

“Satisfied?” Crowley says.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_Dean has already been in the pit for about ten Hell-years by the time Castiel hears about it. He’s been topside, cut off from communications for about two or three months, and he honestly had no idea. He hadn’t thought to ask Crowley, hadn’t thought that Dean’s soul was destined for Hell._

_He’s pleased when the news comes to him. Dean deserves the pain, deserves that kind of torture for killing Castiel’s father._

_But even as that thought crosses his mind, Castiel knows that he himself is to blame, just as much as Dean is. If anything, Castiel is more to blame. Dean was only trying to avenge his father; Castiel knows enough about John Winchester’s descent into Hell to know that he sacrificed himself directly to Azazel so that Dean could live. It’s not a stretch for Dean to put blame on Azazel._

_This is a cycle of revenge that could go on and on… Castiel doesn’t think he’s noble enough to let it go._

_But it’ll be some time before Castiel returns to Hell anyway, so he puts the thought out of his mind. Dean Winchester’s fate is out of his hands._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

The next night, Dean gets a text from Sam saying that he and Ruby are heading toward St. Mary’s Convent, out in Maryland. Apparently, Ruby’s been urging Sam to take it slow, claiming that he still isn’t strong enough to make it. It only confirms their suspicions that Ruby’s trying to time Lilith’s death so that it falls after the sixty-fifth seal.

“So, there any way for you to check with Gabriel, find out how many seals have gone down?” Dean asks.

“No—nothing that’ll work for sure, at least,” Cas answers. “But now that we know where Lilith is going to be, we don’t need Ruby anymore.”

“And we can track Sam’s cell phone signal from that last text he sent you, if it hasn’t been too long,” Balthazar adds.

“I like the way you think,” Dean says. “Let me grab my bag, and you can zap us there.”

“No need,” Cas says before Dean can pull over. “We can transport the car.”

“Allow me,” Balthazar says.

Dean blinks, and suddenly he’s driving on a different road, probably in a different state. “Dude! A little more warning next time?”

“Sorry, but we don’t exactly have time to waste,” Balthazar says. “The signal came from that motel—” he points to the left, and Dean switches lanes, “—room 7.”

“Why can’t you just go in and waste her?” Dean says as he gets the Impala into the parking lot.

“The whole place is angel-proofed. I don’t know if Cas can get in, but I certainly can’t.”

Dean looks over at Cas, who shakes his head. “All right, fine. I got this,” Dean says, pulling into a parking space. He gets out of the car and slams the door, but when he starts to step forward, Cas is standing in his way.

“Try to get her out of the room, if you can. Then Balthazar and I will take care of her,” Cas says.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I can take her myself,” Dean says.

He pushes past Cas and heads toward the door. When he reaches it, he glances back—no one is in the parking lot other than the two angels—and then turns and kicks the door in.

“What the—” he hears in Sam’s voice.

Dean charges into the room and spots Ruby just as she’s ducking behind Sam.

“Dean, what are you doing here?” Sam asks, voice raised.

“I’m here to murder that bitch!”

“Wait—hold on a sec,” Sam says, holding his hands up. “Just calm down. We can talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Dean says, and he can’t tell whether or not Sam’s just playing a role right now, but it’s pissing him off either way, and he thinks he should have already buried the knife in Ruby’s stomach by now.

When Dean moves forward, trying to get at Ruby, Sam shifts to stay between them and says, “Ruby, get out of here.”

“Sam, what the hell are you doing?!” Dean barks as Ruby makes her move toward the door.

Dean does his best to go after her, but Sam holds him back, grabbing onto Dean’s knife-wielding arm so that he can’t throw the demon knife at Ruby. The demon is almost at the door when Cas suddenly appears just inside the doorway, blocking her escape route.

Ruby gasps and backpedals rapidly. “Cas?”

Cas grins like a shark. “Looks like I can come in, angel scratches or not.”

Ruby spins around to face Sam, eyes wide, and Dean tries again to free himself from Sam’s grasp, but he and his brother are pretty well-matched in physical strength. Suddenly she opens her mouth, and Dean barely has enough time to shout out a protest before she’s smoking out. Cas poofs into place right in front of her and tries to force her back into her meatsuit like he did to Crowley’s demon, but the smoke passes right through his hand.

“So I can come inside, but I’m powerless,” Cas concludes, annoyed.

Sam finally lets Dean break free and immediately gets a smack upside the head for it. “Ow!”

“Dude, what the hell was that all about?” Dean demands. “We already know where Lilith’s holding her showdown, so we didn’t need the demon bitch anymore.”

“Look, she’s saved my life. I can’t just—”

“Are we seriously going back over this again?” Dean asks, exasperated.

“No! Dean, I’m just saying that I owed her. I don’t owe her anything anymore,” Sam says.

“Is that it? You’re not gonna come up with some other excuse for us not to kill her the next time she pops up on our radar, are you?” Dean asks.

“We should go,” Cas says before Sam can answer. “Ruby will have gone to Lilith to warn her of our plan.”

“She doesn’t know our plan,” Sam says.

“No, but she must know that we’re coming,” Cas replies. “Gather your things, Sam. We need to go.”

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

One demon bursts into the room that Lilith has been using as a sort of office for the past few days. He’s out of breath, eyes wide with panic, and Lilith sighs, bored.

“She’s here,” the demon manages, worry in his voice.

“Who?” Lilith asks, hardly able to muster up even an ounce of concern. After all, no demon is a threat to her, and no angel can walk within these walls—no archangels are in the game.

The demon opens his mouth to respond, but a lasso hooks around his neck, dragging him out of the room, and another demon, this one important enough for Lilith to acknowledge, strides into the room.

Lilith frowns, because Ruby shouldn’t be here—not without Sam, at least. Her presence now means that something must have gone wrong. None of the lower-level demons know of the scheme, so they must think Ruby is here to kill Lilith. Before any other demons can enter, Lilith waves a hand at the door, willing it shut. “Why are you here?” she asks. “And what happened to your other meatsuit?”

“I have reason to believe that the Winchesters are coming,” Ruby says. “The dead girl is rotting away in a motel two states away from here. Please tell me we’re getting close on the seals.”

Lilith narrows her eyes at Ruby and says, “Don’t forget who is in charge here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ruby says. “How many seals?”

“Still sixty-one,” Lilith replies, and then she frowns, because they’ve been stuck at sixty-one for a while, haven’t they? And it had seemed like the angels had given up already, but they must have either upped their game or pulled some sort of a secret weapon. Or has an archangel become involved after all?

“Fuck,” Ruby says. “So what do we do now?”

“Stall them as long as we can,” Lilith says. But even as she finishes speaking, an alarm sounds. It stops in the next instant, but it was long enough. Lilith looks over at Ruby and says, “It looks like we might not have enough time, then.”

“So will all this planning have been for nothing?”

Lilith turns away from the other demon and looks at the wall behind her desk for a moment, thinking quickly. She could always leave this place, but if there really is an archangel in on this, it makes sense that he’d be keeping an eye out for her, and the heavy warding spells will only help her if she stays here with them. She could fight the Winchesters, but to be honest, they’re pretty well-prepared, and she already knows that Sam is immune to anything she’d want to try on him.

“Is Castiel with the Winchesters?” Lilith asks.

“Yes,” Ruby replies. “He’s able to enter places that are warded against angels, so we should expect him. But he’s also unable to use his angel powers, so at least there’s that.”

“Okay. Well, if we can’t win, the least we can do is make sure that they die.”

“And how are you planning to do that?”

Lilith smiles grimly and moves past Ruby to exit the room. “I have a very important task for the lot of you,” she says to the four demons that are gathered at her door.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Balthazar had been extremely opposed to Cas’s decision to enter the convent with the Winchesters. He’d said a whole lot of stuff about getting Cas out of Heaven and not wanting him to waste his life like this, going in without any protection.

Dean had bristled at this, because protectiveness was a little too close to a claim, and if Balthazar wanted to get anywhere near Cas, Dean—well, Dean didn’t have any right to Cas, but… fuck. Either way, Cas had chosen to come in with Sam and Dean, and nothing Balthazar said could stop him. Dean couldn’t bring himself to feel bad for the sense of satisfaction this gave him.

Dean brings up the rear as they enter the building, and he glances over his shoulder to watch as Balthazar disappears. He’s supposed to keep an eye on the place and take out any escapees, and while he’s waiting, he’ll try to get in contact with Gabriel. If the archangel could come and smite Lilith before the sixty-fifth seal fell, that’d be fantastic.

Then an alarm goes off, and Dean swears under his breath, looking for the sensor. He shoots it, and the siren shuts off.

“Okay, so they know we’re here,” Sam says with a sigh.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, looking over at Sam warily.

He knows his brother had to drink Ruby’s blood, but supposedly the blood “isn’t making him feel any different.” Yeah, sure, and Dean isn’t addicted to Cas’s blood. His eyes flick over to Cas at the thought, lingering on the bare skin of his neck, and Dean licks his lips unconsciously.

Fuck. Stop that.

“Right or left?” Sam asks as they reach the end of a hallway.

The whole place is suspiciously empty of demons, and Dean doesn’t know what to think. Cas said that Ruby probably beat them here, since she knew where exactly she was headed. So wouldn’t this place be teeming with demons? Or have they just not had enough time to get here?

“Right,” Dean decides—to the left is a staircase, and to the right is a wide hallway that leads to a set of double-doors, probably the worship room, where all the sermons are— _were_ —given.

“We could split up,” Sam suggests, but Dean immediately shakes his head—the last thing he wants is for Sam to go off on his own.

“No, we’re sticking together,” he says firmly.

Sam and Cas don’t argue, and Cas leads the way down the hall. Dean follows, speeding up a little so that he can walk next to Cas. About ten yards from the door, Cas sticks his arm out, pressing against Dean’s chest to keep him from proceeding.

“She in there?” Dean asks, lowering his voice.

“I think so. I can sense her,” Cas answers, “which means she can sense me—she knows we’re here.”

“Shit,” Sam says.

“It’s okay,” Cas says. “We just need a strategy. There are three of us, and one of her.”

“Who’s to say she hasn’t got a ton of other demons in there with her?” Dean asks.

Cas shakes his head. “I know Lilith. She wouldn’t rely on the strength of minions, not at this point. If she really has anything nasty planned for us, which I don’t doubt, it’ll be something we won’t be able to kill as easily as the average demon. And it won’t be half as obvious either, so we should just focus on killing her first and worrying about the consequences later.”

“Great. That’s reassuring,” Dean grumbles.

“Okay, I’ll go in first, because Lilith already knows that I’m here,” Cas says.

“What—alone?” Dean hisses. Cas just looks at him, seemingly surprised by his protest, and Dean says, “No, I’m going in with you.”

“Fine. Sam, wait out here. She’ll know that we’ve all come, but if she doesn’t see you with us, she’ll most likely assume that we split up,” Cas says.

“You sure about that? I could go in with you instead of Dean,” Sam offers.

“No, I’m going in with Cas,” Dean says. He takes out the Colt and holds it out to Sam. “Here, take this.”

“But Dean—”

“I’ve got the knife.”

Sam looks at Cas, who shakes his head and draws a silver weapon—an angel sword. “Keep the Colt,” Cas says, and Dean shoots a grateful look at him because honestly, the Colt is probably their best weapon right now, and Dean feels better with it in Sam’s hands.

“Okay. You ready for this, Cas?” Dean says.

“Let’s just get it over with,” Cas replies.

Dean takes the lead for the last stretch and pushes the door open. It gives easily, not bolted or anything, and Lilith’s just standing by the altar, an expectant look on her face.

“Dean Winchester,” she says, smiling. “Azazel was always going on and on about your little brother’s qualities and how they were so much better than yours, but I’m going to have to side with Alastair on this one. Your soul is positively scrumptious.”

“O—kay,” Dean says, brows raised. “Yeah, that wasn’t weird at all.”

Lilith’s smile only widens, and then something small barrels into Dean from the side, knocking him to the ground. He manages to twist and land on his back, hands raised just in time to catch a knife-bearing arm as it swings down toward his face.

“Ruby,” Dean grunts, and the bitch grins with her new face.

“Hello, Dean. I was worried you wouldn’t recognize me,” she says.

As he struggles to keep the knife from coming down on him, Dean is dimly aware of Cas charging at Lilith. He can tell from the tone of their voices that they’re trading taunts, but he’s too focused on staying alive to really pick out the words.

“That all you got?” he grits out.

Ruby’s lips curl into a sneer, and the force increases as she puts more weight on the knife. Dean musters as much strength as he can and shoves their arms to the side, kicking with his feet at the same time to throw Ruby off him. She rolls off him, and Dean scrambles to his feet, drawing the demon knife.

Ruby leaps at him, but he jumps backward and swipes with the demon knife. She’s barely able to pull her arm back in time, and then Dean’s taking a large step forward and grabbing onto her arm with his free hand. But he doesn’t get a good grip, and she twists away.

“You won’t be able to do it, you know,” Ruby says. “That knife isn’t enough to kill her, just like it wasn’t enough to kill Alastair.”

“I don’t care,” Dean snarls, taking another swing at the demon.

When Dean’s arm is fully extended, Ruby’s leg suddenly comes up, her boot coming into contact with Dean’s wrist, and the demon knife clangs against the wall to Dean’s left before clattering to the ground. It’s really not that far away, but when Dean goes to grab it, Ruby jabs at him with her knife. Dean rears back, but he still gets slashed in the arm.

“Fuck!” he curses, grabbing Ruby’s arm and twisting it away from him before she can do more damage with the knife.

She sweeps his legs out from under him, and Dean falls onto his back, hard.

Then two small hands are wrapping around his neck, and apparently Ruby’s given up on stabbing him in favor of squeezing the life right out of him.

“Dean!”

That’s Cas’s voice, and Dean would shout at him to deal with Lilith, but he doesn’t exactly have any air to do so. He does his best to punch at Ruby, but he knows from experience that demons can take a whole lot of hits without falling back.

He claws at the hands around his neck, but he’s already seeing spots, fuck.

_Dean!_

This time, he can’t tell whether that’s Sam or Cas calling his name, but whichever it is, they’d better get Lilith because if Dean dies for nothing, he’s gonna kill ‘em.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

“Dean!”

There’s clearly panic in Cas’s voice, and Sam can’t just stand around outside and let Dean and Cas handle this on their own. Besides, no other demons have shown themselves—Lilith must have had them clear out, and there’s probably some reason for it, but Sam can’t think of one.

He steps into the doorway and sees that Dean’s on the ground, struggling with Ruby. Cas has been shoved up against the far wall by Lilith, and Sam has a clear shot at her back, so he lifts the Colt. Lilith has spun around by the time Sam’s got the gun aimed directly at her, and she looks like she’s preparing to duck out of the way, but Cas grabs onto her arms, holding her in place. Sam starts to squeeze the trigger, but Cas is directly behind Lilith—if Sam shoots, the bullet will go through Lilith and hit Cas, too.

Taking advantage of Sam’s moment of hesitation, Lilith breaks free from Cas’s grasp and rushes toward Sam. Sam scrambles away from her, back against the wall, and fires off one shot, then another. But she’s moving too fast and manages to dodge both.

Sam spares a glance in Dean’s direction and sees that Cas has wrestled Ruby off his brother.

Then Lilith’s knocking the Colt out of his hand, and Sam instinctively tries to pull on his powers, the ones that have been so readily available to him in the past. But he hasn’t had nearly enough blood for them to be effective against Lilith, and she doesn’t even bat an eyelash, advancing on him nice and slow.

The demon smiles sinisterly. “Hello again, Sam,” she says.

Sam maintains eye contact with her as she comes closer. In the background he hears Ruby cry out, and even after everything, he still feels a pang in his chest—is she dead now? But the sentiment only lasts for a second, and Lilith is standing right in front of him now, a sickeningly sweet smile stretching her lips.

“I may not be able to touch you with my powers,” Lilith says, lifting one hand and wrapping her long fingers around Sam’s neck—Sam instantly grabs at her arm, struggling to free himself—“but I can still crush your windpipe, easy as anything.”

Sam pulls in a breath and chokes as Lilith starts to tighten her grip.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Castiel has a split-second to decide whether to help Sam or Dean, and really, when it comes to Dean, Castiel doesn’t have a choice. So he rushes to Dean and drags Ruby off him before taking a knee beside him, resting a hand on his heart to make sure it’s still beating.

“Fuck,” Dean chokes out, voice cracked but still audible.

Immeasurable relief courses through Castiel at the realization that Dean is—or at least that he will be—fine, so he turns to deal with Ruby.

The demon is facing him, brandishing a knife, and though she’s wearing a cocky smirk, Castiel can see right through her, can see that she’s scared now. It’s a wonder she hasn’t smoked out already, but then knowing Lilith, Ruby has already been locked into her new skin. She won’t be going anywhere.

A few shots are fired, and though Castiel barely registers them, they’re enough to draw Ruby’s attention. Castiel rushes to his right, and Ruby shifts carefully so that she’ll remain facing him.

“Hey,” Dean rasps, rising to his feet behind her.

Ruby spins around, startled. In the same moment, Castiel takes two large steps forward, closing the distance between Ruby and himself. He grasps her arms, holding them to her sides, and Dean drives the demon knife right into her gut. She lets out a brief scream, and in a few flashes of light, she’s dead.

Castiel dumps her to the side and turns toward Lilith and Sam, only to find that Sam’s been disarmed, and Lilith is standing not two feet from him. He takes two steps in their direction, but then Lilith’s hand goes around Sam’s neck, and Castiel freezes. Dean takes another step, but Lilith half-turns away from Sam and flashes an unpleasant smile in their direction.

“I wouldn’t come any closer if I were you,” she says, and Sam is—Sam’s choking.

Dean immediately stops moving. “Get the hell away from him!” he barks.

Castiel stretches his wings and realizes with a jolt that if he wanted to fly right now, he would be able to. Seems the barrier against angel flight is only one-sided, preventing entry but ineffective once inside.

“Don’t even think about it, Castiel,” Lilith says. “You may be fast with your wings, but I’ll still have plenty of time to snap Sam’s neck.”

“You sure about that?” Castiel says.

Lilith shrugs one shoulder. “Okay, maybe I’m not so sure. But is that a risk you’re willing to take?” When neither Castiel nor Dean responds, Lilith smiles again. “Well then, drop your weapons.”

The demon knife clatters to the ground, and Castiel looks over at Dean in time to see Dean looking back. Castiel can’t bring himself to let his blade go though, and when he turns back toward Lilith, she’s watching him expectantly, one eyebrow raised.

Then there’s the sound of wings flapping, and Gabriel lands in the room, right next to Lilith. The demon jumps in surprise, and Castiel takes the opportunity to thrust his blade hilt-first at Sam.

“How did you—” Lilith manages to get out before Sam sinks Castiel’s blade into her, right between the ribs. She lets out a long, loud scream, red light flashing beneath her borrowed skin, and finally collapses to the floor.

Sam draws a long, shuddering breath and hacks it back up, and Dean rushes toward him.

“This whole place is gonna blow,” Gabriel says frantically. “We gotta go!”

The archangel’s hand lands on Sam’s shoulder, and he takes flight. Just as he vanishes, the floor starts trembling. Dean starts running for the door, like an idiot, and Castiel darts to his side, grasping his arm and flapping his wings wildly, blending them into the other plane. He manages this not a moment too soon, because the place goes up in flames spectacularly.

“Holy crap,” Dean breathes, looking around as the flames burn right through them harmlessly.

Castiel gets a better hold on Dean and takes off, too fast for Dean to feel it. But Castiel feels every single second, stretched out, and as he travels toward Singer Salvage Yard, he experiences a bone-deep sense of weariness, tempered with relief.

He clutches Dean close in these moments and wishes he could just hold on and never let go.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Traveling with an angel is fucking trippy, that’s what it is. One second Dean’s running for the door, the next he’s being held back and set on fire, except the fire goes straight through him and doesn’t hurt. And then, between one blink and the next, Dean’s back in Bobby’s living room.

“Aw, hell,” he hears Bobby curse, and he looks up to see the old man pointing a shotgun at him.

“I know,” Dean says tiredly.

“We oughta put bells on all these angels,” Bobby complains, setting the gun down.

“Where’s Sam?” Dean asks.

“Haven’t seen ‘im. Was he supposed to be here already?” Bobby asks.

Dean’s gut knots up with worry, but before he can say anything, Balthazar materializes next to him, and he flinches despite himself. “Damn it, can’t you guys make some noise or something?” he says.

“Sam is upstairs,” Balthazar reports. Dean immediately goes for the stairs, but Balthazar steps into his way. “Gabriel put him to sleep, for better recovery from the addiction. He’ll be better off without you barging in and waking him up.”

“I want to see him,” Dean says, because if he doesn’t have proof that Sam’s okay, he can’t relax.

Cas disappears and reappears. “He is upstairs and asleep, as Balthazar said,” he says. “You can stop worrying.”

“So since the world ain’t ending, I’m goin’ to assume it all went well,” Bobby says pointedly.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “I’ll give you the rundown later, if you wanna know.”

“Well. Good job, boys,” Bobby says.

After a brief silence, Balthazar says, “So, Bobby, I’ve been led to believe that you have some good liquor stored in that pantry of yours.”

Bobby huffs a laugh. “Yeah, all right,” he says, heading toward the kitchen, “but if we finish up this bottle, you’d better mojo me a new one.”

“Of course,” Balthazar says, following Bobby into the kitchen.

Once they’re gone, Dean lets out a tired sigh and sits on the couch. Now that the action’s over and the adrenaline is draining from his body, he feels ridiculously worn out. But they’ve won—they’ve _won_ , and Lucifer isn’t rising, and Lilith’s gone, and they can finally _relax_ for a bit, thank fuck.

A few feet from him, Cas moves over to Bobby’s desk and opens up one of the books sitting on it, and Dean gets a flashback of the night that they first met, remembers how Cas had flipped through one of Bobby’s books on that night, too.

“I am an abomination,” Cas says, out of nowhere.

Dean frowns, a bitter taste in his mouth because that’s Uriel’s word, and it’s wrong. “No, Cas, you shouldn’t—”

“Dean, please—let me finish,” Cas interrupts, and Dean falls silent. “I really am an abomination, a freak of nature. I didn’t belong in Heaven, but I didn’t belong in Hell either.” He’s quiet for a moment, and then he says, “What I guess I’m trying to say is that maybe… maybe I was always meant to stay between the two. Here. On Earth.”

Dean waits for Cas to continue, but he doesn’t, and the silence stretches out between them. Dean’s suddenly aware that it’s suspiciously quiet in the kitchen, that Balthazar and Bobby haven’t come back in with drinks.

Finally, the silence gets to be too much and Dean says, “Okay, then. I get that. So what do you think you’re gonna do, huh? Open up a bookshop somewhere?”

Cas smiles wryly. “Do I look like an Aziraphale-type character to you?”

Dean shrugs. “Well, you did help us fight the apocalypse.”

“I suppose,” Cas allows. Then he asks, “What will you do?”

“Oh, you know, the family business. Still people to save, monsters to hunt. Sam and I have got plenty of work to do,” Dean replies.

Cas stiffens a little at this response, and Dean doesn’t know why. “Tell Sam I said ‘good luck,’ then,” he says. “Take care of yourself, Dean.”

That sounds a hell of a lot like goodbye, and Dean catches the briefest smile on Cas’s face before he vanishes. Dean feels an empty ache in his chest, like Cas took a chunk of Dean with him, and fuck, why’d he have to go? A headache starts right behind his eyes, and Dean leans forward, braces his elbows on his knees, and buries his face in his hands.

“Y’know, to quote a famous captain, if you were waiting for the opportune moment, that was it,” Balthazar comments, and when Dean looks up, the angel is leaning against the wall, examining the fingernails on his left hand. In his right hand is a glass of scotch.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean says gruffly, getting to his feet and going upstairs.

Balthazar doesn’t stop him this time, he notes, and it seems more and more like the angel was trying to give Dean and Cas time to talk, alone. What Balthazar wants Dean has no idea, but he’s too drained to try and puzzle it out right now.

Sam and Gabriel are in the first guest room that he checks.

“He’s fine,” Gabriel says as soon as Dean enters the room. “Not awake yet, but he’ll be fine.”

“Why’d you knock him out, anyway?”

“Demon blood is some pretty addictive stuff, and withdrawal isn’t pretty,” Gabriel replies. “But you already knew that.”

It’s almost painful for Dean to recall the banging and shouting he’d heard from the panic room while Sam was locked up.

“He didn’t have much, so it won’t be too bad this time, but I’d still rather let him sleep it off. There’s no easy fix,” Gabriel continues.

“Yeah, I figured. Thanks,” Dean says.

“You’re welcome. Oh by the way, Balthazar was right about you and Cas, you know.”

“Dude, eavesdropping? Not cool.”

Balthazar appears in the room, leaning on the opposite wall, arms folded across his chest—the glass of scotch is nowhere to be seen. “We’re only trying to help you, Dean,” he says.

“Yeah? Well, you’re only annoying me. Get out,” Dean says.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Gabriel says, looking up from his seat beside Sam’s bed.

“I was talking more to Balthazar,” Dean says, because he _is_ thankful to Gabriel for warning them of the explosion, and for getting Sam the hell outta there.

“All right, then. I can take a hint,” Balthazar says.

“It wasn’t a hint,” Dean replies, and Balthazar narrows his eyes.

“It wouldn’t be amiss for you to show a little gratitude,” he says. “If it weren’t for me, poor little Cassie might still be nailed to a post in Heaven, and you and your brother would still be running around like headless chickens.”

“Nailed to a post?” Dean repeats.

“Can’t you two knuckleheads have this conversation somewhere else where you won’t disturb sleepyhead here?” Gabriel says.

Balthazar frowns. “You’re strangely protective over the little big Winchester,” he observes. “Would you be this considerate if it were Dean lying in that bed?”

“Dude, of course not. Didn’t you hear that he killed me like a hundred times?”

“Whine, whine, whine,” Gabriel says, rolling his eyes. “I always brought you back, didn’t I?”

“That totally is not justification for killing a guy over and over again.”

“If I say that I’m sorry, will you let it go?”

Dean shakes his head and leaves the room, heading back downstairs. Bobby looks up from his desk when Dean enters the living room.

“Is Sam okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. Sleeping, like they said,” Dean answers.

Balthazar appears next to the desk, and this time Dean doesn’t even flinch.

“Why can’t you go down the stairs like a normal person?” Bobby gripes, leaning back in his seat.

“I’m hardly a normal person,” Balthazar replies.

“We noticed,” Dean says. “Now you’re gonna explain what you meant by ‘nailed to a post.’”

“I meant exactly what I said,” Balthazar says slowly, and Dean’s stomach lurches at the mental image of Cas, stretched in a Jesus position with nails through his hands and feet. Fuck. The angel continues, “I take it Cas didn’t bother to explain to you what happened to him when he was taken to Heaven.”

“You think?”

Balthazar sighs. “I suppose I should have expected that.”

When the angel doesn’t elaborate, Dean says, “Well? Aren’t you going to tell us what happened?”

“It isn’t exactly my place to tell you, especially when he chose not to,” Balthazar says. “You should have just asked him to stay.”

“Yeah, sure, because he would stay for me,” Dean says sarcastically. Of course Cas would want to stay with the dude who’s still addicted to sucking his blood. Yeah, that makes perfect sense.

Except Balthazar ignores the sarcasm and just says, “Exactly.”

Bobby’s cell phone rings then, and he gets to his feet, heading for the back door. As he exits the house, he greets the caller with an annoyed, “What is it this time, Garth?”

Meanwhile, Dean thinks about explaining to Balthazar that Cas wouldn’t ever stay just because Dean asked him to, but he’s almost positive that the angel would argue with him on that point, and he just doesn’t have the energy to deal with that shit right now.

“So Cas really just up and left, didn’t he?” Gabriel says, appearing out of nowhere.

“I thought you weren’t leaving Sam,” Dean says.

“Well, I wasn’t planning to, but he’s stable now, and frankly, there’s only so long you can look at a guy’s face, no matter how pretty it is, before it gets boring.”

“If you’re bored, I have something in mind for you to do,” Balthazar says—Dean’s still wrapping his head around the fact that his brother was just called “pretty” by an archangel. What is his _life_ , Jesus.

“Ah, yes. You’re still hell-bent on me riding in to Anna’s rescue, aren’t you?” Gabriel says.

After a brief pause, Balthazar says, “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“It is a whole world of trouble, little bro,” Gabriel says. “I said this to Anna and I’ll say it again now: Michael and Raphael are up there, waiting for me to come back, and when I do, I’ll be trapped there, and Anna won’t even be freed. I’m not going back.”

“You know what you sound like right now?” Dean says. “You sound like a coward who’s too afraid to face his own family. Why can’t you go back, huh?”

“Because I don’t want to be trapped there again,” Gabriel says.

“I believe you weren’t trapped there before,” Balthazar says.

“Well maybe not _again_ , but I don’t want to be trapped at all! The first time I got out, they didn’t know I wasn’t coming back. This time, if I go up there, they won’t let me leave. I’m not doing it.”

“But these guys,” Dean says, gesturing toward Balthazar, “get to come down when they need to, so why can’t you?”

“Actually,” Balthazar says before Gabriel can answer, “I’ve rebelled. If I ever show my face in Heaven again, I’ll probably be killed. Or maybe they’ll burn my wings off. Or try to ‘fix’ me.”

“Okay, but before you rebelled, you were able to come down to Earth, weren’t you?” Dean asks.

“Yes, but not with the freedom that Gabriel wants,” Balthazar answers.

“I think you should do it,” Sam’s voice says, drifting into the study from the other room, and Dean rushes over to see that he’s coming down the steps.

“What are you doing awake?” Gabriel says, looking honestly perplexed. “ _How_ are you awake?”

Sam just smiles. “I don’t know, but whatever you did didn’t keep me under for as long as you thought it would,” he replies. “Looks like you underestimated me.”

“Okay, I underestimated your stubbornness,” Gabriel says, rolling his eyes. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I’m serious though, Gabriel,” Sam says. “You should go back, not just for Anna, but for your brothers, too. If I’ve learned anything over the past year, it’s that we need to trust our family—” here, his eyes flick to Dean “—to support us and help us make the right decisions.”

“What, and you think I need those two bozos to help _me_ make the right decisions,” Gabriel says, arching one eyebrow in disbelief.

“Actually, yeah,” Sam says.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Well, you could at least get their support. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t feel better if you could come back down to Earth with their blessing.”

“But the whole point is that they wouldn’t give me that blessing, Sam!” Gabriel says, and now he sounds frustrated. “They’d trap me up there and try to convince me that what I’ve done is wrong, and—”

“But you don’t _know_ that, Gabriel! _That_ is the point,” Sam argues.

“I know my brothers. They’ll put me on a leash because they won’t trust me not to leave again.”

It’s silent for a moment, and then Sam says quietly, eyes lowered, “You know, I… I had the same thoughts about Dean, not too long ago. And he uh, he was well within his rights, not trusting me, because I betrayed his trust. I told myself that I knew him, and that he wouldn’t change his mind, but I was wrong, Gabriel.” When Sam lifts his gaze again, his eyes find Dean, and he repeats, “I was wrong.”

Dean gives him a small smile but doesn’t say anything, because doing so would probably stray dangerously into _feelings_ territory, and he’s really not in the mood.

“Okay, so you were wrong about Dean. Doesn’t mean that I’m wrong about Michael and Raphael,” Gabriel hedges.

“Then take a chance,” Sam says. “It’s worth it.”

“You can’t possibly know that,” Gabriel says, but Dean can see that he’s considering it—his eyes have gone distant, as though he’s running through possible scenarios in his head.

“We missed you,” Balthazar says.

“You didn’t even know me,” Gabriel says shortly.

“No, not me personally,” Balthazar concedes, “but you know our memories can be shared. I knew you through the others before me—all of our brothers know you. It’s small comfort to know that you’re alive when we’re never able to see you.”

After a long moment, Gabriel says, “I hate you, all of you. And if I end up stuck there because of you, I swear I will find a way to make you miserable.”

Before anyone can answer, he disappears.

“Wow,” Balthazar says. “I didn’t think he would actually go.”

“Yeah, I had some doubts about it,” Sam agrees, walking past Dean and Balthazar and into the study.

Dean bites back the urge to ask him how he is—if Gabriel had no complaints, that means it’s okay for Sam to be walking around. “So,” he says, following Sam and Balthazar into the other room, “sharing thoughts, huh? How does that work—is it like a Vulcan mind meld sort of thing?”

Balthazar stares at Dean for a moment before starting to laugh.

Dean’s ready to be all affronted, but before he can say anything, Sam says, “And you call _me_ a nerd.”

And there’s really no way for Dean to avoid answering with, “That’s because you are, bitch.”

“Jerk.”


	5. Salvation

_“I don’t understand why I’ve been given this assignment,” Meg says. “I’m doing some really great work under Alastair, and you’re the one who loves being topside, anyway.”_

_Castiel chooses not to reply—he’s in the middle of looking over one of the latest acquisitions made by one of the lower-level crossroad demons. Crowley had brought it over and asked Castiel to look for a loophole, because the man who made the deal was apparently a “schmuck” whom Crowley now wants to screw over._

_“Hey. Castiel. I’m talking to you.”_

_“I’m listening,” Castiel says, eyes still on the fine print._

_“Sure doesn’t look like it,” Meg says._

_“I’m listening with my ears and reading with my eyes. Continue complaining whenever you’re ready.”_

_“I’m not_ complaining _,” Meg protests._

_“Then what do you call this?”_

_Meg sighs. “Okay, maybe I’m complaining a little,” she admits. “You have to agree that this is a stupid task. I mean, tracking down_ Ruby _, of all demons? Should be a piece of cake.”_

_“That’s what you think,” Castiel says. “No one has caught her yet, and Lilith has sent some pretty skilled trackers out.”_

_He knows that Ruby has pointers from Lilith, in order to avoid being caught by the lower-level demons; no matter how skilled they are at tracking, there are ways to avoid detection by them. Sending Meg after Ruby, however, is a move that Castiel does not understand. She’s smarter than the average demon, older as well—older than Castiel, actually—and she has a real chance at catching Ruby._

_Why is Lilith upping the difficulty? The only reason Castiel can come up with is that someone has suspicions about Ruby’s true allegiances. But who would have doubts like that? Castiel is fairly certain that he is the only being outside of Lilith and Ruby who knows about Ruby’s mission._

_Lilith doesn’t want Ruby to get caught, does she?_

_But Castiel doesn’t really have any personal stake in the mission—he doesn’t even know the specifics, only that Lilith wants Ruby to get close to Sam Winchester. All Castiel wants is to stay away from that family, because it’s only caused him trouble so far in his existence._

_He turns his attention back to the scroll in his hands._

_“And besides—” Meg is still talking. Of course Meg is still talking. If ever a demon loved the sound of her own voice, it was Meg. “—if I’m going topside, why can’t I at least have a go at Sammy, y’know? Since_ Dean _is all special and off-limits.”_

_“He’s off the rack now,” Castiel reminds Meg, but this only seems to make her even unhappier._

_“Yes—he’s getting more attention and praise from Alastair than even I am, now,” she says, twirling her dagger around—Meg always has a blade of some sort to play with when she moves through Hell._

_It’s supposedly just for fun, but Castiel is certain that Meg is paranoid and thinks that someone will try to eliminate her and take her place at Alastair’s side._

_“It doesn’t help that I’m going to be on Earth for at least a few Hell-months. I won’t even be around, so Dean will always be front and center,” Meg continues, jealousy practically oozing from her being._

_Castiel wrinkles his nose and skims a few more lines. The contract is very solid—he helped write the templates, after all, and he’s always paid close attention to detail. “I don’t really care,” he says. To be honest, were he in Meg’s position, he’d be glad to get away from Alastair for a while._

_“Well of course_ you _wouldn’t care, Clarence,” Meg says, rolling her eyes. “Your status as his absolute favorite has never wavered.”_

_Castiel frowns, because that is a fact that has never been spoken aloud. “I don’t think—”_

_“Oh, don’t pretend it isn’t true,” Meg says irritably._

_“I wasn’t going to,” Castiel replies. “It’s just—I didn’t think this was anything we were ever going to discuss.”_

_Meg sighs. “Yeah well, that was before Alastair started playing favorites with Dean. I fucking hate Dean Winchester. Alastair wouldn’t even let me_ touch _him, while he was on the rack. Did you know that?” She sounds wistful, now. “If I had the chance, I’d rip him apart. I’d take my time, have some_ real _fun.”_

_She’s silent for a moment, and Castiel looks up to see her watching him as though she expects him to respond. He shrugs. “I’d rather not get my hands dirty.”_

_“What a bureaucrat. That’s what you are.”_

_Castiel grins and looks back down at the scroll. “You know me.”_

_“Well,” Meg says, “I’d better be going. The sooner I get to Earth, the sooner I can drag that bitch back down here for Lilith’s torturing pleasure.”_

_“And the sooner you’ll be able to continue vying for Alastair’s attention like a whore on a street corner,” Castiel adds._

_Meg smiles and leans in, one hand curling around the back of Castiel’s neck as she tongues at his ear. “You have a way with words, don’t you, darling?” she murmurs, taking one long, deep breath. “Mm, keep up this smell, and maybe I’ll be looking for your attention instead,” she says as she backs up._

_“Not in a million years,” Castiel responds without looking at her._

_“Aw, you really know how to hurt a girl’s feelings,” Meg says, mock-pouting._

_“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”_

_“Well, you’re as charming as always. ‘Til next time, Clarence.”_

_She departs, leaving Castiel to the read the contract in peace. But he’s already pretty much at the end and finishes within the next minute. Rolling it up, he starts toward the region of Hell that Crowley has designated as his domain._

_But all of Meg’s talk about Dean Winchester has roused his curiosity, and despite his determination to stay away from the Winchester family altogether, he is unable to resist the temptation to take the long way, passing by the torture chambers, so that he can take a peek at the new favorite who supposedly poses such a great threat to Meg that she feels the need to whine like a bratty little schoolgirl._

_Castiel doesn’t intend to stop, but when he catches sight of Dean Winchester, it is as it was the first time he laid eyes upon him—he cannot tear his gaze away, entranced by the sheer purity the emanates from the man’s soul, pulsing defiantly even as the darkness of Hell infringes upon it._

_As horrible as Dean’s actions are, there is something beautiful in the way he works, something breathtaking, something that draws Castiel in until he’s nearly forgotten his purpose in being there._

_Then his eyes fall upon Alastair, working beside Dean, and something inside Castiel breaks at that image, of someone so pure working alongside one so corrupt to do something so wicked. And suddenly, Castiel knows,_ knows _, that this is all wrong, that no matter how much love he has for his father, he’s been on the wrong side for all these years._

_There’s nothing Castiel can do to help Dean, not yet, but he knows now that when the opportunity arises, he will take action._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Dean is bad at keeping people around.

That’s just a fact of his life—people leave him. They don’t stick around because he’s not worth sticking around for. Sam left for college as soon as he could, leaving Dean behind without a second glance. Dad left him as soon as Sam was gone. The fact that Sam and Dad are the only two people Dean can think of who stuck around long enough for their departures to even be considered leaving him is telling in itself.

So why is Dean surprised that Cas left and stayed gone?

It’s been just over a month since Cas flapped off, and Dean hasn’t seen or heard from him. And fuck it all, blood addiction or not, Dean _misses_ the guy. He and Sam are back at Bobby’s, having taken three simple open-and-close cases over the past month before heading back for a breather.

Sam’s forced Dean to share how he feels—physically—as far as the addiction goes, and it seems like they both have the same sort of craving, but Sam’s far more at risk because he is addicted to demon blood in general, while Dean’s only hooked on Cas. Cas’s blood, that is. Though with the amount of time Dean spends thinking about Cas and not his blood, he might as well be hooked on Cas.

He shakes his head and tries to clear his thoughts. He doesn’t pray often—or at all, really, except for that one time when Lilith had been coming for Sam. Desperate measures.

“Hey, Cas,” he says to the empty room. “Don’t know if you’re listening, but… you should stop in.”

When Cas doesn’t show immediately, Dean claps a hand over his eyes, feeling stupid, and drags his hand down his face. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy—nothing is ever that easy.

“Balthazar won’t leave me alone, y’know. He keeps thinking you’re going to come back here, says that he can’t find you even though he’s been trying. Anna said the same thing—yeah, Gabriel sorted some stuff out in Heaven, and they let her go.” He pauses, then asks, “How are you hiding from them? Angel-proofing? Are you even allowed to angel-proof yourself when you’re part angel?”

What the fuck is he even talking about?

“Gabriel says that you’re being immature, running away like this,” he says, chuckling. “I mean, that’s fucking rich, right? Wasn’t he the one who spent forever hiding from his family?”

No dice. Dean can’t help it—he shivers a little, feeling ridiculously and unreasonably cold.

“And uh, speaking of Gabriel, can you get your stupid ass here and get rid of your disgusting archangel brother? Because he keeps trying to fucking _woo_ Sammy, and uh, and the worst thing is that it’s—it’s _working_. Day before yesterday, Gabriel popped in with a scroll from a Mesopotamian scribe, and Sam nerdgasmed over it for a good three hours or so while Gabriel translated it for him.”

Still nothing.

“If I’ve gotta suffer through this, you should too. That’s only fair,” he tries.

Dean isn’t disappointed. He really isn’t. There absolutely is not a lump in his throat the size of a golf ball, and the ache in his chest is probably just heartburn. Maybe Sam’s right and Dean should start laying off the bacon cheeseburgers and cherry pie.

“C’mon, Cas,” he says, “even Bobby’s asked about you. That’s gotta be a sign, right?”

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Castiel is working on a small, family-owned cattle ranch in Russia, because the father is too old and the mother too frail to be working with the herd, and the son recently fell ill with some sort of sickness—Castiel can’t tell what it is, but he does know that it’s beyond his limited healing powers.

But he was passing by when he heard a prayer for help from the mother, for “God” to look over their cattle when the family couldn’t.

Castiel has no business helping out on a farm, but to be honest, he doesn’t really have any business anywhere, and one place is just as good as another to hide out. This place is anonymous enough, and the work isn’t difficult. He just needs to keep an eye on the cattle and direct them toward fresh pasture whenever necessary. Herding them is simple for him as well—apparently the ease with which he manipulates humans extends to livestock.

He’s already been here for three days, though, and the longest he’s stayed in one place was five days, two weeks ago. Lachesis had been on the horizon, and he’d had to make a quick escape. He’s just glad that the one who came close was Lachesis and not Atropos, because Atropos is apparently much faster than her sister, and far less forgiving.

The cows are drifting a little too far to the east, near the fence that divides this property from the next, so Castiel gently squeezes his horse’s sides, mentally giving him a nudge. He rides along the fence, directing the cattle away, and the herd slowly travels northwest.

Castiel watches them go and wonders why other things can’t be so simple.

Balthazar has called for him countless times this month, and apparently he’s not even on the run from Heaven anymore, because Gabriel negotiated with Michael and Raphael and got full pardons for Balthazar and Anna. Anna’s been quieter, but according to Balthazar, she’s also been searching.

Castiel is tempted to respond to Balthazar, but he can’t. He feels guilty for leaving his brother like that, but he doesn’t want Balthazar to get dragged into his mess. It was enough that Anna ended up trapped in Heaven on his account—the last thing Castiel wants is for Balthazar to get caught in the crossfire when things inevitably come to a head between him and the Fates.

He’s sure that if Gabriel tried hard enough, he would eventually be able to find him—Castiel’s methods aren’t foolproof, after all. But Gabriel likely doesn’t care enough to put in that much effort, and Castiel is taking extra precautions to stay ahead of anyone who might be following him.

He has thought several times about stopping by Singer Salvage Yard, invisible, just to ensure that the Winchesters are alive and well. But he’s certain that the Fates have thought of that and are constantly watching over the place, just waiting for Castiel’s will to fail and for him to finally go looking for Dean.

“Misha!” calls a voice from the neighboring plot of land, and Castiel turns to see the landowner coming toward him. In Russian, the man says, “I’ve seen that you have some skill with animals. Would you like to work on my farm instead? I will pay double what Alexei has offered you.”

“That’s very kind, but the answer is no, Orlov,” Castiel replies, Russian flowing off his tongue easily.

“Why not?”

“Because I am not doing this for the money. I’ll be leaving soon, anyway.”

“That’s a shame,” the man says, in English this time, and Castiel freezes, fear rising in his Grace.

Before another word can pass between them, Castiel takes off, flying south rapidly. Maybe he’s just being paranoid, but—no. No, he’s right, because he can sense someone tailing him now, and fuck, they’re getting better at finding him. He needs more unpredictable choices, needs to do something that they won’t see coming.

He wonders what they did to the real Orlov. Hopefully one of the Fates just took his shape temporarily. Castiel hates the thought that they could have killed a man because of him, but really, it’s nothing he hasn’t done before, and he isn’t surprised. He also isn’t bothered enough by it to give himself up.

At Vietnam, Castiel makes a sharp turn to his right, traveling west. The three days of rest have done him good, allowing his wings to recover from all the traveling he’s done over the past month.

And then he hears Dean’s voice, hesitant but still clear as a bell. _Don’t know if you’re listening, but… you should stop in_. Castiel wants to stop in, but he can’t. As he flies over the continent of Africa, he listens to the rest of Dean’s prayer, a strange mess of reasons why Castiel should return to Bobby’s place. This comes as a surprise to Castiel, because he’d expected some sort of request for help. After all, isn’t Dean supposed to be hunting things with Sam?

Then he hears, _C’mon, Cas, even Bobby’s asked about you. That’s gotta be a sign, right?_

And it _is_ a sign, just not the one that Dean perhaps intended to send. It’s a sign that Dean actually wants him around, wants him to come back to Singer Salvage Yard just for the sake of being there.

Finally, he stops running.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

A minute or two after Dean finishes praying to Cas, there’s a knock on the door, and Dean looks up just as Sam walks in. He looks sad, but Sam has about thirty different variations of his sad face. Right now he’s got the look that he gets whenever he feels sad on Dean’s behalf, equal parts sorrow and sympathy, and Dean doesn’t want to deal with that.

“Don’t even start,” he says as Sam opens his mouth.

“You miss him,” Sam says anyway. “C’mon, Dean. You’ve gotta talk about it.”

“He wasn’t even around for that long,” Dean says. “There’s no reason—he doesn’t matter to me.”

“But he does, Dean. I… I heard the things you were telling him. But has it ever occurred to you that maybe he doesn’t want to come back for all those reasons?”

“Obviously he doesn’t, because he’s not here right now,” Dean says, too tired to get mad at Sam about listening in.

“No, you’re missing the point. What I’m saying is, have you tried telling him to come back because _you_ want him here?”

And that’s a whole hell of a lot simpler than all the excuses Dean had been thinking up, but he really doesn’t think he’ll be able to take it if he bares that much of himself and Cas _still_ doesn’t show up. Sam opens his mouth again, and Dean cuts him off before he can start by saying, “Don’t, Sam. Just—don’t.”

Sam holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I just—” he sighs and shakes his head. “Think about it, Dean.” Dean doesn’t answer, so Sam says, “Good night,” before leaving the room.

Dean is silent for a long while after Sam leaves, struggling with himself.

He wants Cas to come back and stick around, but he doesn’t want to drag him down, doesn’t want to give himself another weak spot. It’s enough that he has Sam to worry about all the time. Can he take on Cas, too?

But if Cas chooses not to come back, all this worrying is for nothing, so maybe Dean should just ask him to come back and see what happens from there…

About half an hour later, Dean finally decides to get it all over with and says, “Look, Cas, I know you can’t really be tethered down anywhere. You’re like a fucking bird—you’ve even got wings, and you can flap off whenever you want.”

It’s a dismaying thought, because one of the things Dean hates most is being left behind, and Cas has the ability to leave without a moment’s notice.

He presses on, “But I uh, I figure, every bird needs a nest, right? So if you ever need a place to crash—”

“Cowbirds and cuckoos do not require nests of their own.”

Dean doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy to be interrupted, and he spins around to see Cas standing on the other side of the bed, wearing a faded gray shirt, no jacket this time, and dark jeans. “Cas,” he says, getting to his feet, and it absolutely does _not_ come out breathy.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says.

“You fucking asshole,” Dean says, walking around the bed and pulling Cas into a hug. He backs off quickly, but he’s reluctant to let Cas get too far from him, staying well within Cas’s personal space. “Where the hell have you been?”

Cas shrugs. “Everywhere.”

“Doing what, huh? You couldn’t check in now and then?”

Cas stares at him, and Dean feels his cheeks getting a little hot, because fuck, he sounds like a needy housewife or something. But Cas doesn’t focus on it, thankfully, because the next thing he says is, “I hadn’t realized that that would be an issue.”

“Well, it is,” Dean says. Cas nods, a small smile on his face, and Dean just has to ask—“Did you think I didn’t want you around, after everything we’d been through? What type of person do you think I am?”

“The type that is too kind to directly tell someone to leave, because that someone saved his life.”

Dean takes a moment to parse that and says, “You thought I was hinting for you to leave? How—when—” he cuts himself off, shaking his head, and changes course, “It doesn’t matter. Point is, I want you to stick around, okay? And it’s not just because you saved my life or anything. We clear on that?”

“Yes.”

“Good, ‘cause I don’t want you flappin’ off—”

“Dean, just stop talking,” Cas interrupts, swaying closer, and Dean realizes with a jolt just how little space is between them.

And it’s nothing, nothing at all, to dip his head slightly and move forward, pressing their mouths together. Cas makes a soft sound deep in his throat and closes the last bit of distance between their bodies, a solid line of heat against Dean’s front from hips to chest.

It’s good—too good—and Dean has to push Cas away. When Cas remains in place, unmoving, Dean backs up, hands outstretched to put some distance between them.

“Dean—”

“I can’t, Cas,” he says, shaking his head, and fuck, he _can_ , wants so bad that he hardly— _hard_ ly—knows what to do with himself, but he can’t do what he did to Cas again. He won’t.

“Can’t,” Cas says flatly, eyes falling on Dean’s crotch, where his boner is tenting his jeans.

“Yeah. I uh,” Dean not-so-subtly angles his body a little away from Cas, not that it helps any, “I don’t think I can trust myself not to—y’know.”

“Oh,” Cas says, understanding showing on his face.

“Yeah, so—”

But Cas interrupts by spreading his arms and saying, “Have at. I don’t care if you take a goddamn bite out of me. I’ll heal.”

Dean can’t help it; his jaw drops. He also, to his chagrin, gets even harder at the thought. It’s the addiction—it’s gotta be the addiction. “Cas, you can’t be serious. What’s the matter with you?”

“What makes you think something’s the matter with me? I’m fine.”

“I don’t think you would have let me take a bite out of you before, Cas. Something’s wrong,” Dean says.

Cas shakes his head. “You’re making something out of nothing. What could possibly be wrong with me?” he asks, and then he’s plastering himself up against Dean’s side, grinding into Dean’s hip, and holy crap, that’s definitely an erection. Cas’s hand slides up Dean’s chest, then the side of his neck, and it’s like Dean’s paralyzed, can’t move an inch.

And then Cas’s hand is on Dean’s jaw, turning his face toward Cas, and Cas’s grip is firm but not overly so—Dean could resist if he wanted, and he probably _should_ want to, but he doesn’t. Cas leans up a little and kisses Dean, close-mouthed and ridiculously chaste. He backs off, and Dean gets a nice, good look at Cas with his eyes closed, tongue peeking out to swipe over his lips as though he’s chasing Dean’s taste. Dean turns toward Cas, unable to stop himself, and licks his way into that tempting mouth.

Cas slides his hands up into Dean’s hair, massaging his scalp, and it feels sinfully good, almost good enough to distract from the kiss. Dean’s hands find Cas’s waist and slide down, finding the place where Cas’s jeans are, sitting low on his hips. He slips his fingers under the hem of Cas’s shirt, rubbing his thumbs over the jut of Cas’s hip bones.

Dean pulls back slightly to breathe, and Cas kisses his chin, then drags his mouth along Dean’s jawline up to his ear.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean blurts out when Cas’s teeth clamp down around his earlobe. “Don’t do that—you’re making me want to bite you.”

“Then bite me,” Cas says, and Dean full-on shudders at the offer. His mouth fills with saliva at the memory of Cas’s blood—the consistency and the taste, and the rush that followed.

“I can’t,” he forces himself to say, even as part of him insists that he should take what Cas is offering, and more—dude’s a supernatural creature, so he’ll be fine. “Cas, I’ll hurt you.”

Cas stops tonguing at Dean’s ear and backs up a step, and Dean automatically steps forward with him, because the thought of letting go right now is almost painful.

“You can’t hurt me, Dean,” Cas says. Dean opens his mouth to protest, so Cas hurries on, “I know you’re worried because of what happened last time, but I was injured and weakened by iron. Trust me—you can’t hurt me right now.”

“Cas, I just don’t trust myself,” Dean says.

“What if I prove to you that you can’t hurt me?” Cas says.

Before Dean can answer, he’s thrown backwards, toward the wall behind him—it’s a sensation that he’s always associated with demons, and he fucking _hates_ it. But where he should have collided with a wall, his back meets a relatively soft surface.

“Cas, what the—” he starts.

Cas waves his hand once, and Dean loses his voice, which is so not cool.

“Have I proven my point yet?” Cas says. Dean opens his mouth to respond, but his voice is still gone, so he settles for glaring. Cas laughs. “One blink for yes, two blinks for no,” he says, and is the son of a bitch really not giving Dean his voice back?

When Cas only watches him expectantly, Dean exhales noisily and blinks once exaggeratedly.

Cas grins and starts coming closer, but Dean’s distracted because the “wall” behind him is shifting. He twists around a little and realizes with a jolt that he’s pinned against _nothing_ , which is one of the creepier things he’s come across in all his years of hunting.

“Do you like them?” Cas asks, and Dean frowns, because that doesn’t make any sense.

Cas doesn’t elaborate, just pulls his shirt up and over his head and tosses it to the side. There’s some more shifting, and holy _fuck_ those are _wings_ sprouting from Cas’s back, curving around and behind—Dean is _pinned against Cas’s wings_. Dean opens his mouth before remembering that he doesn’t have his voice, and goddamn it, this whole mute deal is getting old really fast.

“Let’s get you out of those clothes,” Cas says, smirking and stepping closer.

He plays with the collar of Dean’s shirt but makes no move to take it off, and Dean realizes after a moment that Cas is watching his eyes—waiting for permission. Dean blinks once, still annoyed that Cas won’t let him talk but willing to play along. Hell, not having the ability to move his limbs on his own really takes the pressure off because it pretty much guarantees that what happened last time won’t happen again.

Cas gets Dean’s clothes off remarkably quickly, and fuck, Cas’s wings don’t feel like real wings—they feel electric, _alive_ , and Dean’s skin tingles wherever it comes into contact with them. There’s something strangely familiar about the sensation, and Dean wants to ask Cas about it, but he still can’t talk.

Cas cups Dean’s face in his hands, something unbelievably tender flitting across his face, and Dean blinks a few times, sure that he saw wrong. The expression is gone as quickly as it came, though, and then Cas is closing his eyes. He trails his hands down Dean’s face, along his neck, and slowly down his chest, mapping out Dean’s torso and arms.

“I rebuilt every cell of you, you know,” Cas says, so quiet that Dean barely hears it. His hand lingers where Dean knows the scar is, and there’s something almost regretful in the way Cas looks at it. As he traces the outline of the handprint with a fingertip, he confesses, “I wish I’d had more time. Then you wouldn’t have this.”

Dean wants to tell Cas that he doesn’t really care. It’s made for a few strange conversations with one night stands, but it’s no big deal—Dean would’ve taken a lot worse in exchange for getting out of Hell.

Then Cas’s eyes close again, and he resumes his exploration of Dean’s body, his light touches going down Dean’s sides, displacing some of his own feathers when he goes a bit farther back. A finger dips into Dean’s belly button, and he tenses despite himself. Cas’s palms rest on Dean’s hips, and without warning, he drops to his knees.

His breath flutters across Dean’s cock, flushed and hard after all the touching, and Dean thinks that Cas will _touch_ him, but those hands continue their journey down Dean’s thighs, avoiding his junk entirely, and Dean tries not to feel disappointed.

“So many scars,” Cas murmurs, and Dean hadn’t even realized that Cas was picking up on those. Of course he’s riddled with scars—he’s a _hunter_. “You need to be more careful.”

Before Dean can even think of a response, Cas’s tongue swirls around the head of his cock once, and Dean gets out a long moan at the tease. He tries to speak, but he was only allowed that one sound, and fuck, he wants to move. He wants to bury his hands in Cas’s hair and pull that mouth back onto his dick.

Cas’s eyes flick up, and then he’s leaning forward, mouth opening wide around Dean’s cock, and Dean wants to maintain eye contact, but he can’t—it’s too much. His eyes flutter shut and his head drops back when Cas tightens his lips and starts to _suck_ , and it’s a good thing Cas’s mojo is keeping Dean upright, because he doesn’t think he could stand on his own right now.

Dean’s thoughts devolve into a stream of steady curses, because Cas has a mouth like a Hoover, and if he keeps this up, he’s going to suck Dean’s brains out through his dick. Dean doesn’t think he can come up with a better way to go, fuck.

But just as Dean feels like he’s about to come, Cas draws back, and a very unmanly sound passes between Dean’s lips at being denied release. Panting, he looks down and takes in the sight of Cas, cheeks flushed and mouth sloppy with spit and precome, and fuck if that isn’t the most awesome image Dean’s ever seen.

And then Dean’s being lifted up by—well, nothing, and that will never stop being freaky. Cas turns as he moves Dean, setting him down on the bed, on his back. The wings slide out from under Dean and flare out, materializing right before his eyes, and there’s no freaking way they would fit in this small bedroom, but Dean watches as they spread, the tips of them just going straight into the walls.

Cas licks his lips slowly and deliberately, burning gaze fixed on Dean. “What _is_ it about you?” he wonders aloud, shaking his head, and this is just hilarious, because Dean’s been thinking that about Cas, and honestly? He’s got nothing.

Then Cas is unbuttoning his jeans and sliding the zipper down, and holy fucking shit this is really gonna happen, isn’t it? Cas is half-hard, stays hidden by his underwear for the few seconds it takes Cas to throw his jeans across the room, and then Cas removes his briefs and climbs onto the bed, straddling Dean’s thighs.

“Not to brag,” Cas murmurs as he leans forward slightly and trails a hand down Dean’s chest, “but I did a fantastic job with you.”

If Dean could speak, he’d say something to the effect of Cas making Dean based on what Cas liked, but he can’t speak, and in the next moment his brain sort of stutters to a halt anyway, because Cas is sliding a finger into himself, face scrunching a little in discomfort. His finger comes out shiny, and Dean didn’t even see Cas getting the lube, but there’s a bottle in his free hand, and fuck, maybe Cas mojo-ed himself some lube, because Dean doesn’t recognize that bottle.

Either way, this has gotta be the hottest thing Dean’s ever seen—well, except for his own fingers sliding into Cas’s ass, which fuck, he really shouldn’t be thinking about that right now, because that shit was so messed up, but the thought of Cas’s rim stretching wide around Dean’s fingers has him fucking trembling, because he’s still being held in place.

“C-Cas,” he manages, voice raspy and low, and Cas’s eyes snap up, surprised at his lapse in concentration, probably.

“It’s surprisingly hard to stay focused when you’re fingering yourself open,” Cas says conversationally, adding a second finger. Dean tries to speak, but Cas has cut his voice off again. “I wonder how distracted I’ll be when I start riding you. Maybe you’ll even be able to get a full sentence out.”

A small moan punches out of Cas’s throat then, and behind him, his huge wings seize up for a moment—maybe Cas hit his prostate on that thrust, and Dean has never been so jealous of anyone or anything as he is of those fingers right now.

“Then again, maybe you won’t,” Cas says, and Dean doesn’t even know what he’s talking about anymore.

 _Please, fuck, please_ , he thinks desperately, and he’s trying so hard to move that he’s probably gonna strain something, but he needs so bad that he just doesn’t _care_.

After an interminable amount of torturous waiting—and Dean wants to look away, but if he can’t actually get up in there, he’s damn well going to at least _watch_ that hole get stuffed—Cas withdraws his fingers and grabs for the bottle of lube again.

A whine slips out of Dean’s throat when Cas’s slippery hand wraps around his cock, jacking him a few times to slick him up. Cas’s wings curve around and forward, the tips stretching inward to brush along Dean’s cheeks, and he feels the nerve endings in his skin freaking light up at the contact. _Why_ , he wonders, _why the hell does it feel so familiar?_

It’s probably because Cas “rebuilt him,” or whatever.

And then Dean abruptly shoves those thoughts out of his head, because Cas is crawling up along his body, dragging messy-wet lips across Dean’s cheeks and chin before finding his mouth. Dean takes advantage of the bit of motor control he has and deepens the kiss, shifting a tiny bit to nip at Cas’s upper lip. This earns him a short, surprised inhale from Cas, and yeah, Dean may be the one who can’t move most of the muscles in his body, but he knows what he’s doing.

That bit of self-assurance flies out the window when Cas pulls back, grasps Dean’s cock to position it, and slowly starts to sink down.

 _Christ_ , it’s good. Dean’s got these clichéd phrases flying through his head right now—so impossibly tight, snug as a glove, they were made to fit together like this, a fucking sword and its sheath—and goddamn it, the most annoying thing is that they’re all _true_. It’s so good Dean thinks he might shoot his load before Cas even gets all the way down.

But Cas suddenly holds still and tightens his hand around the base of Dean’s dick, and Dean can’t decide whether he hates or appreciates Cas for it, because as much as he wants this to last, he also really, really wants to just come already.

Cas sinks down fully then, tearing a breathy gasp from Dean’s throat that sounds at least ten times more pathetic than it would be if Dean had his voice.

“Fuck, it’s been too long,” Cas breathes, hole clenching around Dean, and holy fuck, they _have_ to do this more often. They should have done this a long time ago, and Dean would lament all the wasted opportunities, but Cas starts moving, thighs tensing and relaxing as he bounces on Dean’s cock, and it becomes a lot harder for Dean to think.

Too soon, Cas stills and reaches down, tugging Dean up to a sitting position. His wings curve around Dean’s back, holding him upright, and Dean thinks he’s quickly getting addicted to the electrifying sensation that Cas’s feathers make on his skin.

Cas starts grinding his hips, slow and deliberate, and Dean wants so much to touch him, but his hands remain unresponsive at his sides. Cas’s movements get faster gradually, little huffs escaping his lips every few thrusts, and Dean forces himself to keep his eyes open, because _god_ , Cas is perfect like this. When Cas opens his eyes, his pupils are blown wide, irises reduced to thin rims of blue, and Dean feels like this view is definitely something he could get used to.

The feathers against Dean’s back shift, and the little tingling feeling intensifies, a thousand points of pleasure suddenly spreading across Dean’s back and sides, and he jerks involuntarily. Cas lets out a startled yelp, and suddenly Dean’s hands are his own again. He instantly uses them to grab Cas’s hips, tugging him down harder onto Dean’s cock, and fuck, _yeah_ , that’s fucking _perfect_.

Cas’s wings remain solid against Dean’s back, so he uses them as leverage, leaning back and bending his knees to plant his feet flat on the bed so that he can thrust up each time he tugs Cas’s hips down.

“Oh, fuck—Dean—Dean, yes, _fuck_ —” Cas babbles, and his body is pliant in Dean’s hands now, letting Dean set the pace.

Dean tries to speak, but he still doesn’t have his voice. And he would try to think about why, but it’s hard to think when all he wants to do is keep burying himself inside Cas, to crawl up inside him and just never come back out.

“I’m gonna—hnn—gonna miss this,” Cas gets out between Dean’s thrusts, and what the hell is he talking about now? “I’ve only got—only got ‘til midnight,” he continues, and no—no, no, no, what the _hell_ is he trying to say?

Dean slows his thrusts, staring at Cas’s face, but it’s just slack with pleasure, eyes closed and therefore impossible to read. So Dean stops altogether, because maybe his upstairs brain isn’t working at full capacity right now, but it’s working enough to realize that something’s not right here.

But then Dean’s being shoved onto his back again, hands pinned back to the mattress. Cas starts riding him again, faster this time, and when his eyes finally flick open to meet Dean’s, they’re watery. Dean chokes on an inhale, because Cas is _crying_ , and he finds himself unreasonably hoping it’s something stupid to do with feelings, because this looks too much like something’s really wrong.

And then it occurs to Dean that he can pray, and Cas will hear him. So he keeps eye contact with Cas and prays, _Cas, you fucker, are you listening?_ The slight widening of Cas’s eyes gives away that he is, so Dean goes on, _What the fuck do you mean, you only have ‘til midnight?_

“I’ve been hunted—on the run,” Cas admits in a rush as he lifts up. He slams back down, and Dean’s eyes roll back in his head despite himself—there’s only so much he can take.

 _What’re you—doing here, then?_ Dean prays, a horrible feeling in his gut as he waits for Cas to answer.

“I stopped running, Dean,” Cas pants, pausing momentarily to get the words out.

And then he goes right back to the same pace, all heat and friction and _tightness_ , and _god-fucking-dammit_ , Dean’s gonna come if Cas doesn’t slow down. But they need to talk, _need_ to, and Dean suspects that Cas is looking to avoid it by fucking Dean’s brains right out of his head.

_C-Cas, stop. We need to talk._

“It isn’t your fault,” Cas says, shaking his head.

But it is, it _is_ , and Dean’s gonna kill himself for it, after he kills Cas for just taking off without telling him that he was gonna be _hunted_. Cas slows down and clenches around Dean whenever he’s fully seated in Dean’s lap, and shit, Dean was not made to withstand this kind of sensation. _Dammit, Cas!_ is the most that he can put together right this moment, trying to focus beyond the mind-derailing pleasure that comes with each rise and fall of Cas’s hips. _Explain_ —Dean needs to know.

“It’s—complicated,” Cas says, and he’s panting a little with the words, breaths unsteady.

 _Cas, please_ , Dean forces out, and he doesn’t know whether he’s asking Cas to explain anyway or to just make Dean come already, because this is just—too much.

Then Cas presses his hand to Dean’s temple, and the ensuing flash of thoughts, foreign and friggin’ vast, is utterly overwhelming.

Dean sees a woman and knows—even though there’s no way for him to know—that she is Lachesis, one of the three Fates. He sees her again outside Bobby’s house, and somehow he recognizes that these are two different conversations, with very different outcomes, even though he can’t identify what the outcomes were.

All the while, Cas is still moving above him, and Dean gets a few flashes of Hell, parts that he doesn’t remember seeing. His stomach dips with the sensation of flying, of great wings sprouting from his back.

Cas’s hand pulls back, resting on Dean’s chest for leverage, and Dean doesn’t think he got any of what Cas was trying to show him. But before he can put together a demand for Cas to elaborate, Cas is reaching down to stroke himself, lasting only a few pumps before throwing his head back and coming.

Dean gets out a groan as Cas’s hole tightens even more, rippling around him, and then Cas’s wing brushes his left shoulder, feathers slowly passing over the handprint scar, and it’s over. Dean comes hard, helpless to resist, and fuck, it seems to last forever.

When he finally comes down a little, enough to think but still too out of breath to do much more than breathe, Cas is looking down at him with a sad smile.

“Cas—” Dean starts, voice hoarse, and thank fuck, he can finally talk again.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas interrupts.

Two fingers tap on Dean’s temple, and Dean has just enough time to feel as though a rug’s been tugged out from under his feet before the world goes black.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

It was hard, but he had to do it. If Dean had gone on to persuade him not to, Castiel wouldn’t be able to go through with the deal. And sure, he could go on the run again, but he really doesn’t want to do that for the rest of his life.

It’s also just against his principles to renege on a deal. He can count the number of times he’s double-crossed anyone on the fingers of one hand, and he’s been alive for thousands and thousands of years.

So Castiel wills his clothing back on, cleans them both up, and settles in next to Dean—he lies down facing him and traces his face with his fingertips. The proud bridge of his nose, the hard line of his jaw, light stubble coming in around his chin, everything is perfect. In this moment, everything is as it should be, except for Castiel, who should be dead.

He almost closes his eyes to wait, but if this is the last chance he’ll have to look at Dean, he’s not gonna waste it.

He’s still staring at that face, etching that beautiful, restful peace into his mind, when the clock strikes midnight, and Castiel is pulled away from Dean.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

_It is surprisingly agonizing to stand by and watch as Dean and Alastair work side by side, yet Castiel finds himself visiting the torture chambers more and more frequently as time goes by, because the knowledge of Dean’s presence there is like a siren’s call to him, one that he is hopeless to resist._

_So when the angels begin their campaign to retrieve Dean—it took them long enough to catch on to Lilith and Alastair’s plan for him—Castiel happens to be in the torture realm. A demon arrives, panicked, and tells Alastair about the angels that are storming Hell, and Alastair orders all demons out of that realm to defend Hell—the souls are all bound to the rack and unable to escape, anyway._

_“Why aren’t you going?” Dean asks Alastair when the others have gone—Castiel remains because he chose to interpret himself as exempt from Alastair’s order, since he’s not a demon._

_“Have to watch over you, make sure you don’t go anywhere,” Alastair says._

_“I don’t plan to,” Dean answers, but the little flare of hope in his soul is unmistakable._

_“Still, if any angels get through, someone has to be here to stop them,” Alastair says. Then he turns and sees that Castiel is still present. Frowning, he says, “Castiel, you should be out there, fighting. You’re more powerful than those useless demons.”_

_Castiel smirks, wide and predatory, and says, “You know what? I am.”_

_Alastair stares at him, perplexed by his response. Taking advantage of the demon’s confusion, Castiel flares his wings, knocking Alastair back, away from Dean. As he pulls his wings back, he wraps them around Dean and yanks the soul over to him. Dean yelps, undignified in his surprise, but Castiel gets a firm grip on him and spreads his wings wide again, taking flight with Earth in mind._

_Amidst the chaotic fighting, it’s easy for Castiel to slip out of Hell unnoticed._

_Once outside, however, he realizes that he has a problem—Castiel is one of the easiest creatures to find if he takes no precautions simply because he shines so bright, and he really has no time for precautions. Alastair will find Lilith, and they’ll come after him. He has a few minutes, at the most, and he doesn’t have a safe place to put Dean._

_He does know where Dean’s body is, though. In all the Hell-months spent waiting for a chance to spring Dean from the pit, this was a fact that he picked up._

_So he flies to Pontiac, Illinois and lands near Dean’s grave._

_But this doesn’t really solve his problem. On his own, Castiel doesn’t have the power to reconstruct Dean’s body, and if he releases Dean’s soul here, there’s no telling where it will go._

_Then it occurs to him that he has pure energy with him, fluttering warm and restless in his hands. Dean probably won’t mind having some of his energy siphoned away if it’s to reconstruct his own body, Castiel’s sure. And really, he doesn’t have time to come up with another solution._

_Mind made up, Castiel lets his Grace rise to the surface of his hand, coming into contact with the soul in its grasp. Dean instantly starts writhing, radiating waves of agony so strong that Castiel thinks he’s getting sympathy pains, but he continues until he’s drawn enough from Dean._

_As soon as he’s ready, Castiel descends into the earth, stopping when he reaches Dean’s casket. Floating in an incorporeal state, he presses his free hand to Dean’s remains and concentrates hard on the basic elements of a human body—heart, brain, blood vessels, nerves, muscle tissue, and on. It’s the first time he’s tried to do something so close to creation without making a deal, and it’s almost as though he can_ feel _the universe roiling at this misuse of power._

_In moments, Dean’s body is pristine, returned to a perfect, livable state, and Castiel feels exhaustion begin to weigh in on him. Gently, he places Dean’s soul in this new body and waits to ensure that he will wake._

_But he doesn’t have to wait long—it seems almost as though the instant his soul goes dim, hidden behind its new home of flesh and blood, Dean wakes with a ragged gasp._

_Satisfied, Castiel reemerges from the grave._

_On the surface, he’s greeted with an unpleasant surprise—this used to be a patch of forest, but all of the trees have been leveled, centering around Dean’s grave, and damn, this is way too conspicuous._

_But before Castiel can do anything about it, he senses two figures barreling toward him and instinctively takes flight. He makes sure to stay a short enough distance ahead of them so that they’ll be too focused on the chase to pay attention to their surroundings. Dean’s alive, sure, but he won’t be for long if Lilith and Alastair linger too long in this place and realize what Castiel has done._

_Once they’re nice and far away from Illinois, Castiel will shake them off. Hopefully._

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

It’s surprisingly anticlimactic, appearing before the three creatures who’ve been hunting him for so long. Lachesis is the only one he recognizes immediately—she was the one he made his deal with, and she is the only one who looks almost sorrowful. As for the other two, one seems triumphant, the other indifferent.

He expects a speech of some sort before they wipe him out, but the triumphant one—Atropos, then—just comes right at him.

But five paces away from him, Atropos stops, frowning. “What the hell are _you_ doing here?” she asks. Castiel turns and is startled to see Gabriel right next to him, grinning. “This is none of your business,” Atropos continues.

“Au contraire, madam, I get to decide what is and isn’t my business, and it just so happens that I’ve decided this _is_ my business.”

“Quit screwing around, Gabriel,” Castiel says. “I’ve already arranged a deal with them. You can’t get me out of that.”

“Dealing with Fate, eh? That’s never a smart move,” Gabriel says flippantly. “What’d you get out of it, anyway? One last screw with lover-boy?”

“Among other things,” Castiel replies.

“He wanted the vessel to live,” Lachesis says.

“Aw, how noble,” Gabriel says.

Atropos looks frustrated. “Explain your purpose for being here, or leave. You are not welcome.”

“Oh honey, don’t be like that—”

“We have not forgotten the trouble you caused when you last visited,” Clotho says.

“That wasn’t—”

“ _Everyone_ knows that you’re Loki, okay? You can stop pretending now,” Atropos interrupts, frustrated.

Gabriel shrugs. “Had to happen eventually,” he says dismissively. “I’m here to talk about Cas’s deal.”

“ _Gabriel_ ,” Castiel hisses, annoyed.

“Oh quit shushing me, kiddo. You wanna live, don’t you?”

“I came to them of my own free will,” Castiel says. “There’s nothing left to be negotiated.”

“Ignore my little brother. He’s just confused,” Gabriel says with a wide smile.

“You are the only one here who seems to be confused,” Atropos says irritably.

“You need someone to die to ‘maintain balance,’ or whatever it is you gals are so invested in, right?”

“We need Castiel,” Atropos says.

“Well technically, it could be someone else who was involved at some point, right?”

“If you’re about to offer yourself, don’t bother,” Castiel says.

“Oh hell no, I would never die on your behalf. Are you kidding me?” Gabriel says before turning to the Fates. “What I’m proposing is that you kill Castiel, the hybrid, and let me bring him back. Human.”

“You can’t bring back something that we destroy,” Atropos says. “We permanently remove individuals from the fabric of existence. You can’t reconstruct him once we’ve killed him.”

“Sure I can! Snuff out his Grace, or whatever, and take his wings, but he’s still part demon, isn’t he? That means he’s got a soul.”

“No,” Atropos says.

“Actually,” Clotho says, “that would be acceptable.”

“Sister—” Atropos begins.

“There is the matter of the Winchesters’ fate to be considered,” Clotho continues. “It can certainly be improved upon.”

“No,” Atropos says firmly. “We are not renegotiating. Castiel is going to die—all of him.”

Gabriel and Atropos spend a moment trying to stare each other down, and then Gabriel says, “Okay, fine. For the record, I _tried_ asking nicely.”

“What are you going to do? You can’t kill us,” Atropos says, and she almost sounds amused.

Gabriel snaps his fingers, and Clotho chokes on nothing.

“ _Gabriel_ —” Castiel blurts out, because if he keeps going, maybe they’ll kill Jimmy too, and Castiel’s killed way too many people over the course of his lifetime—he cannot fail here.

“You cannot kill her,” Atropos says, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, and if Castiel picked up on it, Gabriel certainly has as well.

Sure enough, he lifts his hand, fingers poised to snap, and says, “You wanna test that theory? I wasn’t aiming to kill last time, y’know.”

“You’re bluffing,” Atropos says.

“Atropos, I really don’t think he is,” Lachesis says softly, and Clotho is turning unhealthily pale, like her life is being drained right out of her.

“Oh, I might be bluffing,” Gabriel says, and Castiel can tell that that fucker is just _loving_ this. “But are you willing to risk your sister for a hunch? C’mon, it’s fair. You get your sister, and I get my brother. And I’ll still let you take his wings, even. What do you say?”

The look of absolute loathing on Atropos’s face is more than a little bit terrifying. But she says, “Fine. Release Clotho.”

“It’ll be my pleasure,” Gabriel says, smirking.

He snaps his fingers, and Clotho sucks in a deep breath of air. But she’s barely started to exhale when Atropos charges forward, at Gabriel. Castiel dodges to the side, and Gabriel simply vanishes when Atropos comes into contact with him.

“What are you doing, sister?” Lachesis cries out.

Atropos is looking around furiously. “Come out, you coward! I’ll rip you apart!”

Then Clotho and Lachesis are standing on either side of their sister, grasping her wrists and closing their eyes. They start chanting something under their breath, and Castiel doesn’t recognize the language—that’s a first, but he supposes it makes sense, because the Fates aren’t exactly connected to Heaven or Hell; figures that they’d have a language of their own.

Gabriel reappears on Castiel’s other side. “Temper, temper, eh?” he comments, chuckling.

Castiel huffs. “Yeah, apparently. You didn’t have to go out of your way to provoke her.”

“What’s the fun in talking things out civilly? So boring, Castiel. You were much more fun before you met Dean and grew a conscience.”

Castiel bristles at this. “I’ve always had a conscience, Gabriel.”

“Yeah? You used to ignore it pretty well, then,” Gabriel says.

Castiel has to admit he has a point, and then he says, “How do you know this?” But the answer occurs to him before Gabriel replies, and he asks instead, “How long have you been watching me?”

“On and off? A couple thousand years,” Gabriel says, shrugging. “I started _really_ paying attention when you chose Crowley’s soul out of that cacophony of easy picking back in Scotland, because kiddo, you really have an eye for potential.”

“Apparently,” Castiel says. He looks over at the Fates and sees the three of them with their heads pressed together, silent now.

“They’re calming each other. Mostly calming Atropos. She’s the youngest. Little hothead, that one,” Gabriel says. “She is a wild one in the sack, though.”

“I did not need to know that,” Castiel says, shaking his head. After a pause, he adds, “You know, you could have asked.”

“Asked? Asked what?”

“Whether or not I wanted to be human. Which I don’t. I just don’t know whether I’d rather be dead.”

“Oh, I know you wanna live. If not for yourself, then for Dean.”

It really irks Castiel that a man who’s basically a stranger to him has read him so well, but he supposes he hasn’t exactly been subtle in his actions. He and Gabriel fall silent, and a few minutes later, the Fates separate and turn to face them.

“We agree to your terms,” Clotho says.

“Excellent!” Gabriel says. “So, where and when are we doing this?”

“Here, now,” Atropos says, stepping forward.

“Okay, then. Let’s get smitey.”

The annoyance on Atropos’s face increases twofold despite the little Zen session she just had with her sisters, and Castiel is mildly concerned that she’ll just destroy him completely, agreement be-damned. But then Gabriel is stepping up, fingertips crackling with energy, and maybe, _maybe_ , this’ll all work out.

He feels the cold press of two fingers against his temple, the warmth of wings—Gabriel’s—brushing his own, and then his consciousness flickers out.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Dean’s been in kind of a perpetually bad mood lately, but this particular morning might have been the worst yet. Sam got downstairs and found him in the kitchen, nursing a bottle of whiskey, which—it was fucking _nine o’clock in the morning_.

He isn’t quite sure where Dean is now—he’s been disappearing like that all week, just going out into the mess of junk cars in Bobby’s lot and sulking. Today he said something weird about Cas and dying, but before Sam could get anything concrete out of him, he’d gone off on his own, angry and wanting to be left alone.

“Heya, Sammy!”

Sam just shakes his head. “Don’t you have more important, archangel-y things you should be doing rather than sitting around here getting on my nerves?”

“If you keep saying things like that, you’re gonna hurt my feelings,” Gabriel says, and it says something about just how often Gabriel’s been around that Sam can tell he’s pouting just from his tone of voice. He looks up, and sure enough, Gabriel’s pushing his bottom lip out, eyes widened imploringly.

“Don’t do that,” Sam says. “Doesn’t suit you.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to? _Everything_ suits me,” Gabriel says cockily, mock-sadness fading instantly.

“Yeah, of course. What are you doing here?” Sam asks.

“Aren’t you ever gonna be happy to see me?”

“Ask me again in, how about never?”

Gabriel sighs. “Right, ha, ha, funny. Anyway, I bring gifts! Well, more like _a_ gift, but you’d better be happy ‘bout this, kiddo, because it wasn’t easy.”

“Will you just shut up and let me in?” comes a muffled voice from the other side of the front door, and Sam’s head jerks in that direction, because that sounds a hell of a lot like Cas.

When he looks at Gabriel, the archangel just nods his head at the door, and Sam gets up from his seat on the couch to pull the door open. “Cas,” Sam says.

“Yeah,” Cas says, stepping forward to peer around the room before entering.

“Dean’s not in here,” Gabriel says, rolling his eyes.

Sam closes the door behind Cas and turns to face the hybrid as he crosses the room to lean against the wall by Bobby’s desk, looking completely exhausted. “I thought—Dean said you were as good as dead, Cas. How are you here?”

“It’s a bit of a long story,” Cas says tiredly. “Do you have a bottle of water or something? I’m parched.”

“Yeah. Just stay right—” Sam says, starting toward the kitchen.

“Yo,” Gabriel says, stopping Sam in his tracks. “Hello, archangel?” he adds, pointing at himself. He snaps his fingers, and a bottle of water materializes in Sam’s hand. Startled, Sam nearly drops it, but he tightens his grip just in time, shooting an annoyed look in Gabriel’s direction. But he says nothing, moving over to Cas and passing him the bottle.

“Thank you,” Cas says as he uncaps the bottle, and then he’s lifting it to his lips and chugging it.

“Hey, you might want to slow down a little,” Sam says, but Cas just ignores him and continues guzzling down the water, and Sam looks over at Gabriel, because since when did angel-demon hybrids ever get thirsty anyway?

Cas only pulls the bottle away from his lips when he’s finished it, and he coughs a little, wiping his mouth. “That was satisfying,” he says.

“Yeah, I’ll bet. You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on, now?” Sam asks.

“Not really.”

Sam opens his mouth to insist that Cas explain himself, but Gabriel says, “Incoming,” and Cas’s eyes go almost comically wide. The hybrid has only taken two steps away from the wall when Dean enters the room, and Sam watches as his brother does a double-take, freezing in the center of the room.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean says, voice barely louder than a whisper.

He moves toward Cas, and Sam really isn’t sure what’s going through his brother’s head, can’t read the expression on his face. Sam barely has enough time to wonder whether Dean’s going in for a hug, and then—

Dean’s fist flies through the air, and Cas’s head snaps to the side. His body crashes into the wall behind him, and when Sam turns startled eyes on Dean, he finds that his brother’s eyes are wide with surprise and disbelief. But he snaps out of it almost instantly, taking two big steps over to Cas and gripping his shoulders.

“What the hell? What’s wrong with you?” he demands, giving Cas a light shake.

Cas pushes at Dean’s hands, but he clearly isn’t putting in any real effort. “That hurt, asswipe.”

“What the hell?” Dean repeats, obviously worried. “You powered down or somethin’? Tell me what’s going on.”

Gabriel sighs. “He’s human, you nitwit. He’s human.”

“How is that possible?” Sam asks. “I mean, Anna was a fallen angel, but she had to be reborn as a human, right?”

Gabriel rolls his eyes again and points to himself. “Again, archangel? You think I couldn’t magic up a human body for Cas to ride around in?”

Sam wants to answer, but he’s distracted by Dean and Cas, still standing so close to each other. Dean’s wiping a small drop of blood from the corner of Cas’s mouth, careful and so freaking gentle about it, and Cas is staring at Dean’s face like nothing else in the world matters.

“O—kay,” Gabriel says, grabbing Sam’s hand and leading him toward the door. “We should probably give them some alone time.”

Gabriel doesn’t lower his voice, but neither Dean nor Cas acknowledge him, and then Sam is standing on the porch outside, a little disoriented, because he’s not entirely sure that was even still Dean in there.

“Gabriel, I don’t think I understood any of what happened in there,” he says, shaking his head. “Why did Dean think Cas was dead?”

“Because Cas is an idiot,” Gabriel replies.

“Why is Cas human?”

“Because he’s an idiot.”

Sam thinks he might be developing a headache, but remembering the way Dean and Cas had looked at each other… it made sense, _worked_ , somehow. He sighs, looking down at his hands, and thinks that maybe he needs a drink. He blinks, and then there’s a beer in his hand, and his head shoots up in time for him to catch a smug grin on Gabriel’s face.

“Oh, come on. You can’t get mad at me for abusing my powers when I’m abusing them for your benefit, can you?” Gabriel says, uncapping his own bottle of beer.

Sam just nods, because he supposes this _is_ one of the perks to having an archangel for a suitor. Gabriel snorts, and Sam says, “Stop reading my mind, jerk.”

“As you wish, baby. As you wish.”

Sam tries his hardest to hold back a smile, but he isn’t very successful. “That’s not going to work,” he insists nevertheless. And he’d never be the Buttercup in a relationship, anyway.

Gabriel shrugs one shoulder, still grinning. “Oh, we’ll see about that.”

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

It takes a minute for Castiel to register that they’re alone, that he can talk. Another minute passes before he can actually speak, because Dean’s hand is still holding his jaw, and something’s _different_ about the way Castiel registers touch, now that there’s no barrier between himself and his meatsuit—damn it, he _is_ his meatsuit, now, and isn’t that a weird thought?

When he finally finds his voice, all he can come up with is, “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Y’know, I’m gettin’ really sick of hearing that from you,” Dean says, but there’s no fire behind it.

Castiel smiles. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, because he’s a bit of an asshole and he knows it.

It gets a weak laugh out of Dean. “You uh, that was some really messed up shit you pulled, Cas,” he says, shaking his head. “You can’t just disappear for weeks and then show up again, sleep with me, and then tell me that you’re gonna die while we’re still—” he stops, clenching his jaw. “And you can’t just vanish again, right after basically showing me that you’re gonna fucking _die_.”

So his message went across, Castiel concludes—he hadn’t been sure that it would make sense because his mind had been so jumbled at the time, but he supposes the thoughts would have had time to settle in Dean’s mind while he slept, so that Dean could put the pieces together when he woke.

“I’m sorry for the way I handled the situation, but if the clock wound back, I would make the same decision,” Castiel says. “I had to choose between a lifetime of running without ever seeing you again, or dying and being able to see you. And I mean, I’m only a couple thousand years old, but even my stamina has its limits.”

Dean clearly doesn’t find it funny, and Castiel supposes he hadn’t expected him to. “Cas—”

“Okay, okay. It won’t happen again. Actually, it _can’t_ happen again. I’m human now—don’t have many reality-altering, fate-defying acts left in me,” Castiel says.

Dean frowns. “If defying fate was the thing that got you into trouble with them, how come me and Sam weren’t dragged along with you? I mean, we managed to close the door on Lucifer and stop the apocalypse indefinitely, man. Doesn’t that count as defying fate?”

“I don’t actually know what the difference is between defying fate and disrupting the natural order,” Castiel says, because fate is a shady gray area, and he is simply too tired to give a shit about examining it right now. “But in my case, I think I got into trouble because of the way I brought you back. I took energy that wasn’t mine to take and used it for my own purposes.”

“Uh huh… right. You gonna explain what that means?”

Castiel sighs. “I don’t—my limbs feel like they’re made of lead. I don’t even want to support my own weight right now, Dean. Can we save the inquisition for later?”

“Later?”

“Yeah, so I can get some sleep. I feel like I’ve been awake for thousands of years. Oh wait, that’s because I _have_ been awake for thousands of years.”

“Okay,” Dean says. “Okay, yeah, you’re cranky. Let’s get you upstairs.”

Castiel lets Dean steer him to the stairs, but he climbs them on his own. It’s strange to feel so tired, so drained, and to know that there’s nothing he can do about it. In the past, he was able to draw on his Grace to replenish whatever energy he didn’t have. It was like having an unlimited power source.

A minute later, they reach the room that Dean is using. Dean tugs the covers back on his bed and pushes Castiel down onto it.

“You catch some z’s. We can talk later,” Dean says as Castiel leans down to remove his shoes and socks.

“Thank you, Dean.”

He takes another moment to peel his skinny jeans off—Gabriel had insisted that it’d be a good look on him, and he’d really been beyond caring after having his Grace ripped from him. He catches Dean eyeing them with distaste as he tosses them aside, but Castiel doesn’t even have the energy to comment. Then Dean’s pushing at his shoulders, silently urging him to lie down, and he goes without protest.

He was on this bed just last night, yet he can’t remember it being so comfortable, so relaxing. It gets even better when Dean pulls the covers over him. Castiel closes his eyes and tries to let himself drift away. But it feels too much like falling into that strange state of unconsciousness that he used to slip into on the occasions when he’d been too injured and needed to shut everything down to heal, and his eyes snap open again.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asks.

“I don’t… I’m tired, but I don’t think I can fall asleep,” Castiel confides.

“Why not?”

“In the past, whenever I was unconscious, it was because I was gravely injured, and my Grace needed to attend to my injuries. I—sleep feels too similar to that. I’d rather not… not feel that.”

“Oh,” Dean says. “Do you want me to get Gabriel? He could probably mind-whammy you or something, so you could—” Dean cuts himself off because Castiel’s shaking his head, and then he asks, “What, then? You can’t just stay awake forever.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay awake long enough until I pass out. That happens, right?”

“Well… yeah, but I wouldn’t exactly recommend it.” Dean sighs and shrugs out of his jacket, and then his flannel button-up. “Move over.”

“What, you think a cuddle session is exactly what I need?” Castiel says.

“I know more about being human than you do, don’t I?” Dean says, shoving at Castiel’s shoulder when he doesn’t move.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Thousands of years, Dean. Thousands,” Castiel says, but he scoots over anyway, because well, it’s Dean.

“Yeah, yeah, you go ahead and keep bragging about how old you are. I’m the only one in the room who’s got firsthand experience.”

Castiel lets Dean tug him into his side, lets Dean pull him in close, a hand on the back of his head to tuck it under Dean’s chin. When Dean’s finished arranging their limbs to his satisfaction, Castiel closes his eyes. He’s tired enough that it takes almost no time at all for him to start drifting again, but then his stomach drops, and he’s _falling_ , and he jerks into alertness again. Dean’s arms tighten around him just a little, and then he’s humming softly, a tune that sounds vaguely familiar.

“Dean, I don’t think—”

Dean pauses to shush Castiel before resuming his humming, and Castiel recognizes the melody just before Dean starts to sing.

_Hey Jude, don’t make it bad,_

_Take a sad song and make it better,_

_Remember to let her into your heart,_

_Then you can start to make it better…_

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Dean’s barely finished singing that _it’s a fool who plays it cool_ when Cas’s breaths even out, all the tension melting right out of his body— _can’t sleep, my ass_ , Dean thinks. But he keeps going anyway, letting the words trail off until he’s just humming the tune. He runs his fingers through Cas’s hair and hopes the guy won’t have nightmares.

The moment reminds him so much of how he used to sing Sammy to sleep that it almost hurts.

Dean woke up this morning, mind still a little fuzzy from the whammy Cas had put on it, with the knowledge—not the hunch, but the _knowledge_ —that Cas was dead.

The chaotic mess of images that Cas had passed over to him mid-fuck had straightened themselves out in his sleep: Cas had pissed off Fate, or whatever, and he’d been on the run for all the months that Dean was topside, and Dean had had no clue. He’d felt angry with himself for not knowing, angry with Cas for not telling him, angry with the Fates for being stupidly fucking stubborn.

He should have known not to take Cas’s memories as set in stone. But the guy had just made a deal to die at midnight, and when Dean came to, alone in his bed, the low-thrumming hunger that he’d been putting up with for weeks was gone. In its place was this horrible void, like Dean had had his insides scooped out of him, and it had definitely felt like confirmation that Cas was gone, too.

Cas shifts in his sleep, and Dean instinctively tightens his hold, realizing as he does so that it’s silent now—lost in his thoughts, he must have let his voice trail off. Cas feels unbelievably, blissfully solid in his arms, and Dean can’t help but feel a tiny bit guilty at the lightness in his chest that comes with the thought that Cas can’t disappear on him anymore. He’s lost his mojo and won’t be able to super-heal himself or beam himself wherever or whenever he wants.

Essentially, he’s stuck, and okay, it’s gotta suck from Cas’s perspective, but Dean’s fucking giddy with relief that Cas is here, that he’s not going anywhere.

A few minutes later, Cas twitches, tensing up, and Dean rubs his back in slow circles, wishing he could pull some mojo and smooth out Cas’s sleep. He supposes he could technically pray to Gabriel, but Cas already said he didn’t want to be whammied, and okay, Dean might be a little selfish in that he doesn’t want anyone else to be here right now.

He tilts his head down and presses a kiss into the head of dark hair beside him. It’s probably the girliest thing he’s ever done, yet he can’t bring himself to care. Cas grunts and fists his hands in Dean’s shirt, clearly distressed, and Dean murmurs, “Hey, Cas, shh—shh, you’re okay. It’s Dean. You’re okay. You’re home.” Cas’s grip loosens a little as Dean continues, “Yeah—yeah, you’re fine. I’m here.”

“Dean.”

Cas’s voice is low, word a little sleep-slurred, and when Dean gives him a light shake and gets no response, he concludes that Cas is still sleeping.

“You’re home,” he whispers again, with feeling, and that’s exactly it, isn’t it? Dean wants to be Cas’s home, wants to be his—his _nest_ , wanted it before he found out all the shit about the Fates. And sure, he’s still a little apprehensive, still worried about giving himself another weak spot, but hell, they managed to get the jump on Lilith and stop Lucifer from rising, so that proves they’re strong enough to stay together, doesn’t it?

Either way, he knows that Cas’s home is here now, with Dean, and there’s no changing that. Judging by the way Cas is anchoring himself to Dean right now, he feels the same way.


End file.
